


The Song That Remains

by starsinherblood



Category: The Dragon Prince (Cartoon)
Genre: Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe, Celtic Mythology & Folklore, Fae & Fairies, Gen, Light Angst, Selkies, Some Ruthari but it's not a focus, let amaya swear
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-23
Updated: 2021-01-04
Packaged: 2021-03-03 01:35:40
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 23,911
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24342889
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starsinherblood/pseuds/starsinherblood
Summary: A pair of human princes join a selkie girl unaware of her heritage on a quest to return a baby dragon and reopen the way to the land of the Fae. Loosely based on the 2014 animated film Song of the Sea, with further inspiration from Irish and Scottish mythology.
Relationships: Callum & Ezran & Rayla (The Dragon Prince), Callum/Rayla (The Dragon Prince)
Comments: 43
Kudos: 65





	1. Mists and Legends

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome to the Dragon Prince Selkie AU that literally no one asked for. All right folks here we gooooooooo

The people of the village of Silvercoast of the Clan of the Moon considered themselves very practical. Few, if any of them, could say for certain that they had encountered one of the Fair Folk, but they treated anyone—or any _thing_ —strange enough with deference, just in case. They were respectful to anything living that they needed to make use of. A hunter thanked every deer he brought down, a woodcutter apologized to every tree she felled, and no one did either of these things without good reason. When one was out on the road and came across a wayfarer with odd movements and odder eyes, one nodded politely, avoided eye contact, and went on one’s way without comment and without hurry. That was just the way things were. Though it wasn’t spoken about, the clans considered abiding by the tacit rules to simply be common sense.

Runaan was no different.

Though he had spent years well outside his homeland, he had abided by the unspoken customs wherever he went. After all, who was to say there _weren’t_ any of the Good Neighbors in any of those places, even the southern lands where folk were openly irreverent without any obvious repercussions? And now that he was home again, he was still well in the habit of leaving stones in the middle of fields alone and giving a wide girth to those certain trees. When out fishing, he steered clear of lights under the water. He didn’t stare, he didn’t meddle, and he was always respectful. No, Runaan was no different, and it always kept him out of trouble.

Until the night it didn’t.

Runaan stalks down the dock in a huff and casts off his boat with barely a nod for the dockman. The reason he’d come all the way to Duskwater was so he wouldn’t have to deal with a pompous, arrogant healer like the one in his own village of Silvercoast. But instead, he’d had to suffer through an entire evening dealing with the most absentminded, indecisive, blathering fool he’d ever met.

By the time the healer managed to determine the herbs Runaan needed and package them—after multiple redirections whenever his attention wandered to stories of his grandchildren or the many cases he’d worked on—it was much later than Runaan had planned, and full dark with a new moon to boot. He pulls his cloak tighter against the chill and sighs, his breath misting in front of him. Ethari had been right, as usual.

When his husband had starting coughing and became too tired to put in a full day’s work in his smithy, Runaan insisted on visiting a healer to buy some medicine. Illness was the last thing anyone needed with autumn turning towards winter. However, Runaan refused to deal with Toross again and decided to make the trip down to Duskwater instead. Ethari had rolled his eyes and drily commented that he was just making more work for himself, but he didn’t bother trying to dissuade him. He knew Runaan had very little patience for people he wasn’t fond of. Which was most of them.

As Runaan’s little fishing skiff snakes its way up the coast towards home, the nighttime critters on the rocky shore crooning in the darkness, his mind begins to wander. In addition to the typical concerns of an oncoming winter, the decades-old spats with the southern kingdom of Katolis are escalating. War had finally been officially declared hardly a month ago. Though Silvercoast isn’t particularly close to the no-man’s-land between the vague borders of the northern clans and the more institutional Katolis, Katolin ships have been spotted as close as Thunder Island. Runaan has done what he feels was his time fighting for his homeland. He’d spent almost a decade fighting in the south, first as an assassin-for-hire and later defending the clans’ borders. He’d eventually decided he’d seen enough violence and returned home to marry his childhood sweetheart.

Not that he wouldn’t fight if the war reached Silvercoast. Runaan grips the oars tighter, just the thought making him uneasy. Ethari is very, very skilled at making weapons, but he isn’t very good at using them, and most of the villagers are the same. They do have a small militia, but their experience was exclusively limited to driving off small groups of roving bandits. Runaan, regarded as one of the most skilled combatants in the clans, is a bit of an outlier.

A sudden splash to the side jolts Runaan from his thoughts, and he internally curses himself for his slip. Here he is, worrying about potential danger far away, and paying no attention to potential dangers nearby. He realizes his uneasy feeling is still with him. Gaging his surroundings, he quickly sees why.

A pale mist is forming over the water, becoming thicker by the moment. Already, the rocky shore is nearly hidden from sight and the dim light of the stars is veiled. The nighttime critters have gone quiet, the gentle lapping of water against the skiff and Runaan’s own breathing the only things he can hear. The silence is almost tangible.

Weather this unnatural has to be faerie doing. Runaan scans the area around him—as much as he can see, anyway. He fervently hopes he won’t see anything. Even if he does, he knows better than to look at it for long. A grouping of rocks looms out of the mist ahead, and Runaan adjusts course to pass around them.

His heart nearly stops when he spots a dark shape crouched on one of the rocks. It’s barely a stone’s throw away, two gleaming points in its face staring right at him. His eyes flick briefly to the twin swords on the bench across from him, though he knows a faery might consider his even reaching for them a sign of hostility. He tightens his grip on the oars again, knuckles turning white, but maintains his rowing pace. Looking away, he sends a prayer up to the absent moon.

A low, mournful keening drifts over the water. Ice trickles down Runaan’s spine, and he briefly glances back. The eyes are following him.

The keening continues as the skiff passes the rocks. Several minutes pass as Runaan navigates the rest of them, trying to ignore the unnatural sound. It fades as he heads back towards open water and soon dies out completely. Runaan risks a look back.

The rock is empty.

His apprehension spikes. He sets his jaw and stays alert, but his surroundings remain motionless and silent. Several minutes pass, and though the mist is as thick as ever, Runaan dares to hope that is the end of it. 

The skiff suddenly lurches to one side, and Runaan scrambles to keep his seat. A dark form slips aboard, thumping heavily to the deck. Runaan pulls his legs up to the bench in a ready crouch as the boat rocks back to equilibrium. With dismay, he realizes the thing is between him and his swords. The creature lifts its head, and Runaan sees it clearly for the first time.

It’s a seal, crouched defensively, its fur dripping water and a darker liquid—blood?—onto the deck. Its eyes, luminous yet dark, meet his. A lighter lump of fur sits shielded under its chest.

The seal has to be a faerie. Those eyes are too intelligent, and no wild animal would simply climb aboard a boat. Slowly, Runaan eases one leg out for balance, then spreads his hands to show they’re empty. The movement dislodges his cloak, exposing his shoulders and arms.

“I mean no harm,” he says quietly. “If I disturbed your home, I can bring you recompense.”

The seal regards him for a long moment. Its eyes wander across his face and over his arms, taking in the blue tattoos that mark him as a member of the Clan of the Moon. The tension eases from its shoulders, and then it rears back. The mist seems to brighten for a moment, and the seal…unfolds, forming the shape of a young woman wrapped in a fur cloak. Her bare arms, streaked with what is now clearly blood, clutch the pale bundle to her chest. A long bloody gash mars her cheek under her still-dark eyes. She’s kneeling, the least threatening posture she can assume.

Runaan draws in a sharp breath. Selkies, the Seal People, are some of the shyest of the faerie creatures and rarely interact with humans of their own will. Their history with humans—particularly the selkie women—is not the best, usually with humans on the offending side, and they keep to themselves as they can. But now one is here in front of him, clearly in distress, having apparently sought him out.

The young woman on the floor of his boat still has her eyes fixed with his. “Please,” she says, her words heavily accented, “he is huntin’ us.” Exhaustion seeps through her voice. “I canna keep runnin’, and my husband—my husband is slain. Please—please take her.” She pulls back a flap from the bundle and, hands shaking, offers it to Runaan.

It’s a child. A little baby girl, no more than a year old, wrapped in white furs and sleeping peacefully. 

Runaan eyes both of them warily. Selkies might be the least fickle of their kind, but they are still fae, and with the fae, nothing is ever as it seems. Taking a gift from a faerie—especiallly a _living_ gift—is just begging for misfortune. Hoping it won’t anger her, Runaan says, “With all respect, I cannot accept.”

She makes a distressed sound in her throat, clearly agitated. “He has seen me, _an draoidh dorcha,_ and he will find me. I canna protect her.”

Runaan shakes his head. “I’m sorry.”

“Please,” the selkie whispers, and, voice breaking—“Her name is Rayla.”

Utterly stunned, Runaan can only stare at her.

To the fae, names are sacred to the point of reverence. They believe that if one knows your name, that person has power over you—which is true with other fae at least, magical beings that they are. Telling one your name is a disastrous idea. The selkie giving him her daughter’s name is her giving him power over the child. Putting the girl at his mercy.

Exposing the depth of her desperation.

Unbidden, another scene flashes before Runaan’s eyes: a young mother of the Clan of the Earth, brutalized in a raid, wailing and clutching an unmoving child to her chest while her bloodied young son watches silently.

Slowly, barely realizing what he’s doing, Runaan’s hands reach for the girl.

The woman presses her face to her daughter’s, humming and murmuring her love. Her short, bobbed hair tickles the child’s face, causing her to sigh contently in her sleep. Eyes wet with tears, the mother gently places the girl in Runaan’s arms.

She looks even smaller in his own. Her short, wispy hair is a silvery white, the same shade as the fur cloak she is wrapped in—her seal coat. She yawns and snuggles deeper into his arms, and Runaan’s composure softens, just a little.

He hears the words _thank you_ like a sigh on the wind.

Runaan looks back up, an offer on his tongue to help the woman with her wounds, but the skiff is empty. Around him the mist is fading, as quickly as it arose. After a moment, the sounds of the forest’s night life picks up again.

Runaan shakes his head, feeling as though he’s just woken from a dream. He looks down at the girl, still sleeping peacefully, and all he can think is, _What the hell did I just do?_

xXx

“What the _hell_ did you just do?”

Ethari’s voice is a much louder volume than usual. Arms crossed and his usually pleasant expression now a dark scowl, he keeps to the other side of their cottage’s small kitchen, the table between them. Runaan knows his anger stems from worry. “What were you thinkin’? A faerie creature offers you a bairn and you just _take_ it? Did you leave your common sense in the south?”

“They were being hunted.”

“Who would be _stupid_ enough to hunt faeries?”

“A dark mage would.”

Ethari scoffs.

Runaan meets his eyes solemnly. “They still exist, in the southern lands. In secret.”

“Even if she was tellin’ the truth, that should have been an even better reason to refuse. You no be showin’ any signs of having been enchanted, so _why_ —”

“She told me her daughter’s name.”

That silences Ethari.

“I’ve seen what violence can do to children, Ethari. To families. Her mother was desperate, and likely dying. I couldn’t just leave her.”

Ethari lets out a breath, his shoulders relaxing, but his face is still troubled. He passes a hand over his face, rubbing the pale blue tattoos branching down from his temples. "How are we goin’ to explain the wee thing? Whatever story we come up with, the village won’t believe it. She came out of nowhere and looks strange. People will talk.”

“Let them talk. You know I don’t care what they think.”

“Aye, I know that very well,” Ethari sighs. “It’s one of the reasons I married you.” He runs a hand through his short hair, and watches Runaan with the child for a while. “She’ll grow up an outsider. Scorned. Lonely.”

“Better than dead.” Runaan takes the girl’s cloak off her and wraps her in one of their blankets. “I’ll hide this, and we don’t tell her where she comes from. If someone is hunting selkies, she’ll be safer if she doesn’t know.”

Ethari takes the cloak, folding it and placing it gently over the back of a chair. “We’ll need to hide it here, though. We can’t just get rid of it. Selkies can’t survive too far from their coat.” He shakes his head, smiling wryly. “I thought we were goin’ to decide _together_ if we wanted bairns.”

Runaan cracks a smile at that. “Sorry.”

They’re quiet for a few moments. Ethari sighs again, then crosses to Runaan and reaches for the girl, who Runaan hands to him. She opens her eyes, a startling lavender, and gazes up at Ethari. She reaches up towards his face.

Ethari doesn’t take his eyes from hers. “What’s her name?”

Runaan wraps his arms around them. “Rayla,” he says.

xXx

Callum, fresh from playing with Lord Viren’s kids while the adults were in a meeting, is so rowdy that even his nanny can’t get him to settle down. She apologizes, over and over, and Sarai assures her that it’s fine, she’s not bothered. And she’s not, truly. She just came from another late-night strategy meeting in Harrow’s throne room, and she could use with a distraction from the thoughts of battles and violence and worry. The war with the northern clans has been drawn out for well over four years now, and they’re all exhausted.

Harrow keeps trying to convince her that she doesn’t need to come to the meetings this close to her time. She can take it easy until after the baby comes. But Sarai knows it’s her duty as queen and as one of Katolis’s most feared warriors (even if she can’t exactly fight at the moment). More than that, this is the world her children will grow up in. She needs to make sure it doesn’t fall apart around them. The war is the same age her first child is, for Primals’ sake.

Callum, blissfully unaware of his mother’s worries, is regaling her with the games he had been playing with Soren and Claudia. Sarai is relieved that this play session went well; Callum idolizes Soren, and the older boy often takes advantage of it. Sarai entices him to bed by saying she’ll tell him a story about Xadia she hasn’t told him before.

“I don’t want to hear a _story_ about Xadia,” Callum says, rambling around the nursery waving his toy sword. “I want to _go_ to Xadia!”

“You can’t,” Sarai tells him.

He frowns, hurt in his green eyes. “Why not?”

“That’s what this story is about.” She sits on the cushioned window bench with a grunt, grateful to be off her feet. She can’t _wait_ for this baby to be born. “We don’t have to get in your bed yet, but you do have to sit down.”

Intrigued, Callum obliges, leaning against her; her belly is too big for him to fit on her lap. Sarai runs a hand through his messy brown hair, hoping the repetition will help him calm down.

“Long ago, when magic was more easily found throughout our world, you couldn’t go a day without seeing a dragon fly across the sky. They traveled as they pleased between their realm and our own. They were huge, and terrifying even if they were friendly, and those that could talk shook the world when they spoke. The greatest of the dragons was their King, Avizandum.”

“Avizandum,” Callum repeats slowly, sounding it out.

“He was a sky dragon, with thunder in his voice and lightning in his breath. Each beat of his wings could cause winds that could level a whole forest, and he could summon storms with a single line of song. His queen, Zubeia, was just as fierce and nearly as big. In time she laid an egg, and the world knew that their child, born of such majestic parents, would be one of the greatest dragons that ever lived.

“The allure of this power ignited a desire in the heart of a dark mage named Ziard. He knew the potent magical essence of the baby dragon inside the egg could fuel dark spells of a magnitude he could only dream of. So he decided to steal the egg to use for his magic.”

“But that would _kill_ the baby dragon,” Callum says, dismayed.

“Yes, it would, but remember, he’s a dark mage. He knows very well the cost of his magic.” Sarai kisses her son’s head. “The dragons lived on top of the highest peak in all of Xadia, so tall that humans could not breathe when they reached the top, because the air was so thin. So Ziard trapped a wind spirit, and when he got too high, he used its essence in a dark spell to keep his body supplied with air. Then, he hid just outside the dragons’ lair for three days and three nights, until the dragon king Avizandum and his queen flew out on an errand. So powerful were they, and so confident of the security of their mountain lair, they did not think anyone would be foolish enough to enter their home. And so Ziard strolled right in. There were many artifacts and treasures in the lair of the dragon King and Queen, but Ziard had eyes only for the egg.

“When the dragons returned and found their egg gone, Zubeia wept and wasted away in her grief, but Avizandum flew into a rage. He sensed traces of the dark magic the mage had used, and followed the trail back to the city of Elarion.”

“Where is Elarion? I’ve never heard of it.”

“Elarion was a great city by the sea, and where it was exactly you will find out shortly, if you stop talking and listen. Avizandum flew to the city, and in his anger each stroke of his wings fueled a storm unlike the world had ever seen, or has seen since. By the time he reached the city, it was half destroyed, and in a voice louder than all the wind and thunder he demanded his egg be returned to him.

“The remaining people of Elarion pleaded with Ziard to return the egg so Avizandum would spare what was left of their city. But Ziard in his arrogance refused, hiding the egg from them, and instead decided to try to slay the dragon. He made a spear with the horn of a unicorn, imbuing it with dark magic. Then he braved the storm to stand on the wall of the city above the sea and taunt Avizandum, describing the spells he would use the egg for. His jeers had the desired effect and the dragon flew at him, but before the dragon could strike, Ziard threw the enchanted spear and it pierced Avizandum’s heart.

“Struck by the mighty blow, the great dragon fell into the ocean, and the dark magic of the spear began to turn him to stone. But before he succumbed, his lighting breath killed the dark mage. In his last moments, Avizandum sung a great song of magic that sealed the way to Xadia, to prevent anyone from our realm from entering for evil purpose ever again. And once it was done, the dragon heaved a great sigh and lay his head beneath the water as the last of him turned to stone. But because he was so big, some of him stuck out of the water, and today it is known as Thunder Island.”

“Thunder Island! I know where that is! But there’s no city near there.”

“Elarion is in ruins now. The survivors believed it cursed and never went back.”

“What happened to the dragon egg?”

“No one knows. The secret of where Ziard hid it died with him, and perhaps it was destroyed with the rest of the city. People have looked, but it has never been found.” At her son’s downcast look, Sarai smiles gently and brushes his cheek. “But they say that if and when egg is found and returned to Thunder Island, the rift between our realms will begin to heal.” She gently prods Callum up and stands herself. “And now, my young prince, it is time for bed.”

Energy spent for the night, but still very much awake, he climbs in bed with only token protests this time. Instead, he has more questions. “How come the King can’t tell any of these stories?”

Sarai sits down on the bed next to him. “He’s your stepfather, Callum. You don’t need to call him _the king_.”

He shrugs. “I guess. But how come?”

“The stories were passed down for generations through my family. I think most of them have never been written down.”

“Why not? They’re _awesome_ stories.”

“The people who came up with them didn’t have access to books to write them in, and instead memorized them and knew them by heart. Today, most people don’t remember them, and those who do don’t think they’re important enough to write down.”

“Do _you_?” he asks, _finally_ starting to rub his eyes.

She smiles. “It’s a nice idea, but being a queen keeps me very busy—and soon I’ll be even busier with your new brother or sister.”

“I’ll write them down someday. When I’m older. _I_ think they’re important.”

“That’s a wonderful idea, sweetheart.” Sarai kisses his forehead. “I think they’re important, too. I think there’s a very good reason they’ve been passed down through history. But now, you really need to go to sleep, Callum.” She stands.

“Don’t go yet, Mom. Can you sing me a song?”

Smiling, Sarai raises her eyes to the ceiling and sighs dramatically. “I suppose. If you _promise_ to go to sleep afterwards.” He nods, and she climbs onto the bed next to him, over the covers. “Which one?”

“The song of the sea,” he says sleepily. “That one’s my favorite.”

Sarai hums a few lines before beginning the song.

_Idir ann is idir as_

_Idir thuaidh is idir theas_

_Idir thiar is idir thoir_

_Idir am is idir áit_

_As an sliogán_

_Amhrán na farraige_

_Suaimhneach ná ciúin_

_Ag cuardú go damanta_

_Mo ghrá_

_Idir gaoth is idir tonn_

_Idir tuile is idir trá_

_As an sliogán_

_Amhrán na Farraige_

_Suaimhneach nó ciúin_

_Ag cuardú go damanta_

_Idir cósta, idir cloch_

_Idir brí is idir muir_

_Tá mé i dtiúin_

_Between the here, between the now_

_Between the North, between the South_

_Between the West, between the East_

_Between the time, between the place_

_From the shell_

_The song of the sea_

_Neither quiet nor calm_

_Searching for love again_

_My love_

_Between the winds, between the waves_

_Between the sands, between the shores_

_From the shell_

_The song of the sea_

_Neither quiet nor calm_

_Searching for love again_

_Between the stones, between the storms_

_Between belief, between the seas_

_I am in tune_

Callum drifts off halfway through. Sarai watches him for a few minutes, marveling how fast he’s growing. A shadow darkens the door, and she glances up to see her husband. She gets up carefully so as not to disturb her son and meets him in the stairway, closing the door softly behind her.

Harrow envelops her with his thick arms, and she embraces him back. “Is the little monster finally asleep?” he asks.

“Mhmmm.” She closes her eyes, enjoying this precious moment where her husband doesn’t have to be a king. “Playing with Soren and Claudia always riles him up.”

Harrow’s deep chuckle echoes down the stairs. “Yes, but he’s so sweet with them. He’ll make a wonderful big brother.” He kisses her temple and places a hand on her belly.

Sarai brings a hand up to cover his. “They’ll do amazing things together,” she murmurs. “I can’t wait to watch them grow up.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song is "The Song of the Sea" from the animated film of the same name.
> 
> So the other week I rewatched "The Song of the Sea" on Netflix while also experiencing a resurgence of The Dragon Prince feels. One thing led to another, and...this AU was born! I currently have 19 chapters planned, including an epilogue, and I'm very excited to bring this story to life and share it with you. Many thanks to the fantastic RunningNinja for her enthusiasm and encouragement!
> 
> One note: I have absolutely no background with Irish or Scottish mythology, though I've been having a *lot* of fun researching it the past week or so.


	2. Plans and Plots

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter does juggle a number of different POVs, as it introduces the rest of our main cast (save Zym). Hopefully it doesn't come across too scattered.

King Harrow put the report from General Amaya down, sighing and rubbing his forehead. He’d come to loathe seeing crows outside, whether they were carrying messages or not. They never brought good tidings, these days.

“Bad news?” Lord Viren asked.

“Mm.” Harrow leaned back as much as he could in his straight-backed desk chair, allowing himself to slouch in the privacy of his personal study and in the company of his most trusted advisor. “The northern clans are amassing together in numbers we haven’t seen since peace was established, but they haven’t made any movements toward the border yet. They’re claiming that Katolin soldiers disguised as bandits have raided several villages.” He brought the hand down to rub his face. “General Amaya is getting worried. She thinks it may not be long before they stage an attack on the Breach.”

“That’s preposterous,” Viren said heatedly, visibly tightening his grip on the tall, ornate walking staff he always had with him. “Why would our soldiers raid those barbarians? They certainly don’t have anything of value to offer. I’m sure the good general is reading too much into this.”

“For now the point is moot. They clans have taken the attacks badly, and are holding Katolis responsible.”

“They’re probably just blaming us for attacks by actual bandits as an excuse to declare war on us again. Those bloodthirsty savages don’t know what to do with themselves without something to fight.”

“Enough, Viren.” Harrow stood and crossed to a small window set between towering bookshelves. “I’ve tried so hard to make this peace work. By the end of the war, both sides were weary enough of the violence that I thought we could work out our differences. The problem is the clans don’t have a central leadership. Each clan has an equal standing but different agendas, and each of them have a different take on what this peace should look like—or if we should have it at all.” He leaned on the windowsill, his crown heavy on his head over his dreadlocked hair. “I can’t force another war on my people, Viren. They’ve already lost so much.”

Viren lay a hand on his shoulder. “So have you.”

“Sarai worked so hard for this. It’s what she died for. I can’t let it fall apart.” He turned to face Viren. “We’ll have to make investigations. Find out if it really was our soldiers who attacked them.”

“I can’t imagine they’d ever do such a thing. But you’re right, we do need to consider every angle.”

“And show the clans that we’ll get to the bottom of this. Which won’t matter if they are using this excuse to go back to war, but if they’re not…” Harrow sighed again. “Send one of the Council and several of the Crownguard to investigate.”

“May I suggest Lord Engeram? He has investigative experience, albeit with business pursuits.”

“Whatever you think is best. I trust your judgement, Viren.”

Viren was quiet for a moment, then stepped forward. “Then please, consider it when I say undertakings like these would be much more effective if there were still mages around.”

“No, Viren,” Harrow said sharply, turning back to the window. “For the last time, magic is too fickle and the cost too high. It’s too dangerous.”

“With all due respect, Your Majesty, magic hasn’t been practiced in Katolis in generations. You cannot know for sure.”

“I’ve seen enough of its effects in Neolandia and Del Bar, and read the accounts from Katolis’s history. My answer is final. I will not hear of this again.” Harrow crossed back to his desk. “You are dismissed. Send for Prince Callum on your way out.”

Viren bowed stiffly. “Yes, sire.” Spine straight, he stalked from the office.

Harrow sat heavily at his desk again once his old friend was gone, putting his head in his hands. He knew Viren’s heart was in the right place. The man had only ever been supportive and acted with Katolis’ best interests at heart. But magic was one of the few things Harrow would not give him.

It was true Harrow had never witnessed actual dark magic. But the early history of Katolis was rife with the dangerous consequences of implementing it freely. In addition, several nearby nations which were more lax in enforcing their laws against those who practiced secretly were beginning to spiral into chaos. At any rate, in this day and age it simply wasn’t practical in a developing country such as Katolis.

Harrow shook his head and turned his thoughts to more immediate concerns. If relations with the clans did progress to war, he needed to ensure he sons would be safe.

xXx

“You know,” Claudia said, “I’m surprised your arms are still so skinny if those mythology books you’re obsessed with are all as big as this one.” With a grunt, she dropped the ridiculously thick book she’d been carrying onto the small desk she’d pulled over earlier.

Callum looked up from his sketchbook. “Most of them aren’t quite that big. Though yeah, they are generally pretty thick.” He hopped to the floor from his perch on the window seat overlooking the castle gardens, his favorite place in the library. He glanced at the tome she’d brought and began to flip through it. “Yeah, this is it.”

“Oh, good,” Claudia said, sounding relieved. “I _really_ didn’t want to have to lug that back just yet.” She pressed her hands to her lower back and stretched it out, avoiding the purple-tipped black hair that fell to her waist.

Callum glanced up at her sheepishly. “I usually have to ask one of the librarians for help.”

“And you couldn’t have _mentioned_ that?”

Finding the section he’d been looking for, Callum skimmed through a couple paragraphs, then pointed at a specific passage. “Okay, here we are. This right here more or less confirms what you’re wanting to know.”

Claudia peered over his shoulder. “ ‘The primal mages,’ ” she read aloud, “ ‘are held to have performed the greatest of their spells at specific times. It was claimed that at these points in time, Xadia was the most closely aligned with the physical realm. Smaller spells seem to be able to have been cast at any point, as it was believed that the weak magic needed for these spells could be drawn from a primal source at any time or place. However, the more powerful a spell, the closer a link to Xadia must have been present, either by means of a physical place or at a certain time.’ ” She straightened, frowning thoughtfully. “Well, I guess that’s kind of helpful, but it would have been nice if they’d given some examples.”

“Yeah,” Callum agreed, “but if you read through enough of the old tales, you can pick out a pretty comprehensive list of times and places when the greatest works of magic were done.” At Claudia’s stricken look, he grinned and reached for his sketchbook. “Fortunately for you, I already did all that legwork and compiled a list.” He pulled out his most recent pages of notes and handed them over.

“Thanks, Callum, you’re the best!” Claudia gushed, scanning the list. “I knew this would be right up your alley! It would take me _months_ to do all this research. When did I ask you about this? Yesterday afternoon?”

Callum blushed, rubbing the back of his neck. “Yeah. I uh, spent most of last night and a lot of this morning on it.”

“Didn’t you have weapons training with Soren this morning?” Claudia asked.

Callum winced at the memory. Swordsmanship was not his forte, and he had several new bruises from his most recent training session. Soren had not gone easy on him—not that he ever did. “Well, yeah. But after that.”

She shook her head. “That’s amazing, Callum.”

“I’m totally happy to help,” he was quick to assure her. “I love all this stuff—anything to do with the old myths.”

“I know,” Claudia said dryly. “ _Everyone_ knows. It’s been your obsession since you could talk. I’m pretty sure you can name more old heroes than kids your age. Or any kids.”

Callum, whose face had almost returned to its normal color, reddened again.

“I’m just teasing,” she said, patting his shoulder. “Seriously, thank you. This would’ve taken me forever.” She began packing up her things.

“What did you want to know for, anyway?”

Claudia waved a hand dismissively. “Oh, just for one of the classes I have with my dad. We’re going over some of the religious beliefs of ancient humans and how it affected their society, and stuff like that.”

“That sounds awesome,” Callum said, a bit enviously. Though he, his brother Ezran, Claudia and Soren were all taught by the same tutors, Lord Viren had decided to teach several subjects to his daughter himself. Callum thought that was a little odd, since the perpetually exasperated councilman didn’t strike him as the mentoring type, and since he hadn’t decided to include his son Soren in any of these classes. But while she was tight-lipped about it, the little tidbits Claudia occasionally shared sounded fascinating. Much more interesting than the stuff Callum learned with his tutors, anyway.

“Speaking of which, I should probably head up to his study. I have another class with him soon,” Claudia said, slinging her bag over her shoulder. Callum tried not to let his disappointment show as she headed down the aisle with a cheerful wave. “See you later, Callum! Thanks again!”

He waved her off, then hopped back onto his window ledge with a sigh. He’d been hoping to spend more time with the older girl, maybe impress her with some more obscure knowledge. Ah, well. At least he’d be able to return to the research he’d been doing before Claudia had approached him for help the day before. He opened his sketchbook to his most recent drawing-in-progress.

Callum’s sketchbook doubled as an unlined notebook where he kept all his notes from his research into myths and legends, and where he’d transcribed the stories his mother had told him when he was younger. Most of the stories simply could not be found in any written record, and those that were were treated dismissively by the authors as local superstitions. He typically had a bit more luck researching mythological creatures, which were often mentioned in accounts by people travelling in remote locations, particularly the north.

But not this one. His most recent item of study was the Puca, a creature said to lure travelers onto its back and take them on terrifying rides through dangerous areas and otherworldly lands before depositing its victim far from home (if it let its victim go at all). But though the creature’s exploits were richly described, its appearance seemed to be widely contested and vague.

Before Callum could disappear too deep into his speculative drawing, energetic footsteps caught his attention. He looked up to catch the beaming, freckled face of his younger half-brother.

Ezran skidded to a halt, barely avoiding crashing full-tilt into the window ledge. “Callum!” he said excitedly. “I just found a new passage that comes out right behind the kitchens! Do you want to come with me to swipe some jelly tarts?”

Ezran was always exploring the network of passages, both known and unknown, that spiderwebbed the castle and its grounds. At ten years—much to the dismay of his nannies, tutors, and guards—he could utilize his small stature to evade them through the tightest spaces. Some of his descriptions of the secret rooms and objects he found on his explorations were ridiculously outlandish, but everyone had given up trying to dissuade his imagination.

Callum glanced longingly at his sketchbook. “Well…”

Ezran stuck out his lip and adopted his puppy-dog face, gazing at his brother with pleading blue eyes. “Please,” he begged. “You haven’t come exploring with me since, like, Yuletide.”

Though that was certainly an exaggeration, Callum still felt a pang of guilt. He really hadn’t spent a lot of time with his little brother recently, had he? And he probably should take a break; it was late afternoon, and he’d been in the library since sword practice had ended mid-morning. Now that he thought about it, he hadn’t even stopped for lunch, and suddenly those jelly tarts sounded like a fantastic idea.

“I suppose,” Callum said, standing. “I should probably stretch my legs.”

“That’s for sure,” Ezran said, taking the recently-vacated window seat and swinging his legs impatiently as Callum began collecting the assortment of papers and pencils scattered about his workspace. “You spend wayyyy to much time up here drawing and looking at dusty old books no one else reads. Our tutors already make us do way too much studying. Why do you want to do more?”

“I need to collect all the stories Mom used to tell me,” Callum said. “Most of them were never written down, and very few people tell them anymore. I want to finally write them down in an anthology so they’re not forgotten, because—”

“Because Mom believed they were created and passed down for a reason. Yeah, yeah, I know,” Ezran said, waving a hand impatiently. “But sometimes it feels like that’s all you ever do. You never want to play with me anymore.”

“I know,” Callum said, sighing. He stacked the books he’d been referencing, including the one Claudia had brought over, into a neat pile on the desk. He’d probably be back later that evening and would put them away then. “I’m sorry. I draw when I’m stressed, and researching is my way to escape worrying. And I am really worried, about if we’ll have another war.”

“Because what happened last time, to Mom,” Ezran supplied, serious now. “You don’t want that to happen to Dad, too.”

Callum winced. He hadn’t realized Ezran was quite that perceptive. “Yeah.” He shook his head as if to clear the depressing thoughts and turned to his brother with a grin. “But let’s not think about that. The only thing we should be worrying about is how we’re going to carry all the jelly tarts we’ll grab! Now, where does this passage start?”

Ezran clapped his hands and jumped up, excitement brightening his face again. But before he could say anything, an armored figure rounded the nearest bookshelf.

“Hey, step-prince,” Crownguard Soren said. “My sister told me I’d find you here. King Harrow is asking for you.”

Callum and Ezran exchanged glances. Ezran shrugged. “I guess we’ll take a short detour first.” He looked back to Soren. “What does he want to talk to us about?”

Soren shook his head. “Just Callum. And he didn’t say.”

“Oh,” Callum said, appetite suddenly gone. The king wanted to speak to him? Just him? That couldn’t be good. “Uh. Okay.” He glanced at Ezran and tried to keep his voice from rising in pitch. “Sorry, Ez. Another time, I guess.”

Ezran’s face fell, but as always, he put an optimistic spin on it. “That’s okay. I’ll just take Bait with me.”

Callum smiled weakly despite his internal panic. “I didn’t know frogs liked jelly tarts.”

Ezran scowled. “He’s _not_ a frog. I don’t know what he is. But he’s something magical.”

“You know, if you show him to me, I might be able to tell you what he is.”

“I know,” Ezran said, “but he’s really shy. He doesn’t want the evil guy who caught him and caged him in the secret dungeon to find him again.” He shrugged. “I told him he doesn’t need to worry about _you_ , but he’s not sold yet.”

“C’mon,” Soren said, tapping his fingers on his crossed arms. “Let’s leave Ez and his imaginary magical not-a-frog to whatever scheme they have planned. The king is waiting.”

Ezran’s scowl darkened. “He’s _not_ imaginary.”

“Uh-huh.” Soren looked less than impressed. “Let’s go, step-prince.”

Too distracted to protest the use of Soren’s favorite jibe, Callum straightened, trying to ignore how his heart sped up. “Right.” He ruffled Ezran’s dark, fluffy hair. “I’ll catch you later. Save a few jelly tarts for me.”

The door to King Harrow’s study was much less overbearing than the towering, ornate pair leading to his throne room. In fact, it was just an ordinary door. Nevertheless, Callum had always found it much more intimidating. He straightened his tunic one last time and, ignoring the eyes of the guards, took a deep breath and pushed through.

The king didn’t notice him right away. He was hunched over a mess of reports scattered across his normally tidy desk, his brow resting on one fist. Callum stood just inside the door for a few awkward moments, then cleared his throat.

King Harrow looked up, dark bags clearly visible under his eyes. His richly-embroidered tunic was wrinkled, and Callum was pretty sure it was the one he’d been wearing the day before. The lines on the king’s face softened as he recognized his stepson and rose to greet him. “Prince Callum.”

Callum gave a bow. “My king.”

“No, I—” Harrow looked uncomfortable. “Please, Callum, there’s no need.”

Callum straightened, unsure what the proper protocol was here. Harrow took a few steps forward, then appeared to change his mind and crossed to the window. “I know you’re aware of the…rise in hostilities with the northern clans recently.”

Callum nodded. “Yes, sir.”

“I’m afraid that things may only get worse. If that is the case—if we slip back into war—then there is something I will need to do for me.” He turned back toward Callum, face somber. “I may send you and Ezran to a safer location. The Banther Lodge, perhaps. Or to stay with your grandmother in Bellmoore. You wouldn’t be going alone, of course,” the king added hastily; Callum knew the shock was evident on his face. “You would have guards, and an escort. But I would still need you to look out for your brother.”

Callum bit his lip. He really, really wasn’t a fan of the idea. Though Castle Katolis was the most likely target, it was also better defended than any place the king could send them. But the fact that King Harrow was considering the option of sending them away at all made him the most nervous. “Do…do you think we will? Go to war again, I mean?”

“I honestly don’t know,” Harrow sighed. He ran a hand over his face. “Your aunt seems to think it’s likely. Lord Viren isn’t convinced. The clans have accused us of raiding several villages and appear to be gathering forces, potentially to launch an attack of their own. Or they could be simply trying to dissuade us from further attacks.” He shook his head. “You don’t want to hear this. I simply want you to be prepared for any eventuality.”

“Can’t you just make peace with them?” Callum blurted out, anxiety making him bold. He twisted the strap to his scrapbook. “We didn’t attack them, did we? Why would they say that? They can’t want war again that badly, can they?”

“It’s not that simple,” Harrow said heavily, crossing to Callum and placing a hand on his shoulder. “War is full of uncertainty. There are generations of wrongs, on both sides. I am responsible for some of those wrongs, and as a result, I’m afraid they wouldn’t hesitate to assume the worst of me.” He closed his eyes and pulled away from Callum again. “You were likely too young to remember, but after the death of your mother, I…acted on my grief in ways that, in retrospect, were very unwise. And, ultimately, wrong.” He paused, looking down. “The clans are well known for holding grudges. If anything…does happen, your brother will need you.”

Callum swallowed. “Of course, sir.”

The king’s face looked torn, as though he had something he wanted to say but wasn’t sure how to go about it. “Callum, I know I’m not your birth father, and that things have been…difficult since the loss of your mother. I’m aware my duties often mean I’m not the best example of parenthood, and I know your…unique situation in the royal family is an awkward weight on your shoulders. But…I already lost my wife to this war. I won’t lose my sons, too. Either of you.” He met Callum’s eyes. “And I will do my best to ensure I will always be there for you, too.”

Callum stared at him for a moment. An impulse came to him, and before he had a chance to lose his nerve, he rushed forward to hug his stepfather. He’d never been sure where he stood with Harrow or how to act around him—as the outsider step-prince, the extra son—but didn’t want to lose the only parent he had left.

He couldn’t see the tear that trickled down Harrow’s face.

xXx

Rayla put down her cloth and the sword she’d been polishing with it. The sluggish, achey feeling was back again. She shook her head, and stretched out her back and arms, trying to dispel it. Their trek to the capital of Katolis hadn’t been particularly grueling, so there was no reason for her to be as tired and sore as she was. After a lifetime of training—not that only 15 years was much of a lifetime—she was in good physical shape, and finally had a chance to put her skills to use. She was excited to bring justice for her people, and her village. She wasn’t about to let some cold get in the way.

She picked up her blade again and appraised it with a critical eye. She scanned it for the nicks and imperfections Runaan had taught her to watch for, just as he’d taught her how to use them. They were serviceable, but could use some work. Glancing up from her seat on a large rock in front of her tent, her eyes sought out the rest of the team. They were clustered in front of their own tents, which were set up a conspicuous, though not outright impolite, distance from hers and Runaan’s.

“Hey,” Rayla called to a young man who had just finished sharpening his own sword. “Could I borrow your sharpener-thingy?”

The conversation quieted, but only the one she’d talked to look over at her. “Whetstone.”

“Yeah! That.”

He eyed her for a moment. “No.” He returned his gaze to his weapon, and surreptitiously made a gesture for warding off evil.

The group’s conversation slowly picked up again. Rayla rolled her eyes, ignoring her disappointment, and returned her attention to her own gear. It had been worth a shot.

She was still annoyed she’d missed her first chance to use her swords in service of her clan. When Silvercoast had been attacked, she and Ethari had been in a neighboring town delivering some fine silverwork he’d been commissioned for. By the time they’d gotten the news and returned, the raid was over. The raiders had appeared to be an average band of brigands, but they had fought much, much better than such. They’d caused a profuse amount of damage, but the only thing they appeared to have actually stolen was a white fur coat that had belonged to Rayla’s mother. Upon further investigation, the raiders had been traced back to the forces of Katolis, the clans’ ever-hostile neighbor to the south.

Rayla was excited, and though she’d never admit it, she was nervous too. She hadn’t expected her uncles to let her come. But by all accounts, when the Council of Clans had approached Runaan to lead a team of assassins in a stealth attack to get revenge on Katolis, he’d actually insisted she come as a condition of his assent. And she certainly hadn’t expected Ethari to allow it. He clearly hadn’t been happy with _either_ of them going, but he’d barely said a word against it.

Footsteps approached, and Rayla glanced up to see Runaan striding toward her across the spread-out camp. Not that she’d expected anyone else. The other four assassins, all fellow clanspeople of the Clan of the Moon, always made a point to avoid her if they could.

“Walk with me,” Runaan said, striding past her to the woods. Rayla hopped off her perch on the rock and followed, after briefly stretching out her legs.

Runaan was silent until he stopped some distance from the camp. “How are you feeling?” he asked without turning to face Rayla.

She felt lousy, actually, but she wasn’t going to let him know that. “I’m fine. Just a few sniffles. Nothin’ that will slow me down tonight.” She bounced on the balls of her feet to convey her supposed energy.

“That’s not what I meant.” He did turn to face her now. “Rayla, you’re talented—perhaps the strongest and fastest of any of us.” Rayla raised her eyebrows; she was good, she knew, but that had to be stretching it a bit. _And even if it’s true_ , a traitorous voice inside her whispered, _it certainly wouldn’t help you prove them all wrong._

But Runaan was still talking, so she ignored it fairly easily. “However, I know you’ve never _taken_ before, and that requires a different kind of discipline. One that it is much harder to prepare for.” He met her gaze levelly. “I want to make sure you’re ready for that possibility.”

“I can do it!” Rayla said with feeling. “ ‘Assassins don’t decide right or wrong, only life and death. Life is precious, and life is valuable. Though we take it, we do not take it lightly,’ ” she added, quoting part of the Assassins’ Oath. Then she frowned. “But what do you mean, ‘possibility’? Killin’ is kind of the point of an assassination, isn’t it?”

Runaan clasped his hands behind his back. “I have a special assignment for you tonight. You will sneak into the castle with us, but after that, you will separate from us. You won’t be a part of the actual assassination.”

Rayla stared at him, incredulous.

Runaan continued, either not noticing the shock on her face or, more likely, ignoring it. “I have reason to believe some of the items that were stolen from clan villages during the raids are in the castle. Your mother’s coat, in particular. Your job is to search the castle and find it, then get out.”

Rayla was so angry she could hardly speak. “Are you jokin’?” she spat. “You brought me all this way, and you’re no going’ to let me participate? Instead, you’re sending me after a stupid coat?”

“I thought you would like a chance to recover what was stolen from you,” Runaan said in that same measured tone of his. The fact that he could just yank her dreams out from under her with the same calm demeanor as always only served to rile her up more. Didn’t he _care_ how she felt?

“What I _want_ is a chance to do what you _trained_ me for! And to get revenge for our clan! I don’t care about the stupid coat.” Which wasn’t really true, but Rayla was angry enough not to care. Fists clenched, she turned her back on him. “My parents _abandoned_ me. No _coat_ is goin’ to make me feel better about it.”

Runaan let out a long sigh. He was probably rubbing his temple the way he usually did when her stubbornness began to get to him. “Rayla. Do you trust me?”

She huffed, crossing her arms, deliberately not looking at him.

“ _Do you trust me?_ ”

Rayla scowled at a young oak tree. “Aye.”

“Then trust me when I say finding your coat is just as important as the assassination itself. The reason you can’t do both is that once our mission is complete, we will need to make a hasty retreat and will not have time afterwards to look for it.”

“How on earth is findin’ the coat as important as rightin’ the wrongs against us?”

She heard an exasperated huff from him. “I promise, once this is over with and we’re safely away, I will explain. But for now, like I said, I need you to trust me.”

She narrowed her eyes. “You’ll explain everythin’? Includin’ why my parents left me?”

He clearly wasn’t happy about it, but said, “Including your parents.”

Rayla did look over her shoulder at him then. Runaan—and Ethari, for that matter—had never willingly told her anything about her parents, and firmly shot down any line of questioning she’d presented in that vein. That he was willing to make the offer was a good indicator of just how important this side mission was.

But she didn’t have to like it.

“Fine,” she said, glancing away again. “I’ll find the stupid coat.”

“ _Thank you_ , Rayla.” Runaan crossed over to her and placed a hand on her shoulder. “I promise, I’ll explain everything after the mission.”

Rayla just shrugged and kept her eyes down. Runaan’s hand fell, and after a moment he started back toward the camp.

A thought occurred to Rayla then. “Hey, wait a minute!” she called at his retreating back. “It’s a huge castle. How am I supposed to find the thing?”

Runaan looked back over his shoulder. There was something like humor in his eyes, though she couldn’t fathom why. “The same way as last time.”

Well, _that_ wasn't helpful.

The sun was sinking lower in the sky when Rayla made her move.

The team would strike when the moon was highest—a tribute to the act as their duty as the Clan of the Moon. With only a few hours left, according to custom, each assassin was preparing in his or her own way. They each meditated on the grave task they were about to undertake as well as prepared physically. Most importantly, they typically did it alone.

As such, Rayla was easily able to leave the camp without arousing suspicion. She’d made sure her note for Runaan was easily noticeable in front of her tent. Flipping her hood up to help her blend into the forest—the muted greens and navies of her assassin gear were much easier to camouflage than her white hair—she spared one last look in the direction of the camp, though it was hidden from sight even from her position a couple stone-throws away.

“I can do this,” she whispered fiercely, to herself as much as to her uncle. Then, pulse thrumming, she raced through the woods towards the castle.

xXx

Viren didn’t need King Harrow’s worry on top of his other concerns, but he was mostly irritated that his disguised raids into the northern clans had been discovered. At the moment it trumped even his ever-growing exasperation with the king’s stance on magic. Facing the map of Katolis and the surrounding countries that sprawled across the wall behind his desk, Viren eyed the lands above his homeland with grudging respect. Apparently, he hadn’t given those savages enough credit.

“So, wait, they actually managed to put together that it wasn’t actual brigands, _and_ that they were really disguised Katolin soldiers? How’d they manage that?”

Viren turned and glowered at his son, causing Claudia to sidle away from him. “The _how_ isn’t important. What is important is that they somehow did.” Despite the consequences, Viren didn’t regret his most recent forays into the northern forests. The benefits he’d reaped were worth it. The magical plants and animals required to practice dark magic were scarce in Katolis these days. Growing cities, well-travelled roads, and decreasing wilderness all contributed to pushing back the creatures dark mages needed to power their spells, and the remaining ones that could be found would likely not be powerful enough to do much. The only place magical creatures might still exist in any great number, at least within the known world, were the wild lands of the northern clans.

Viren shook his head and brought himself back to the present. “It doesn’t matter. The clans were always going to find an excuse to resume the war anyway. It’s in their nature. But soon, with all the magical wealth of Xadia at our back, Katolis will be the leading power in the world. None will be able to stand against us.” Human, or otherwise. “But, for now, we must stay alert. We will have a northern visitor soon enough.”

Soren’s eyes widened in alarm. “They’re planning on attacking the castle? Already?”

Viren closed his eyes and prayed for patience. “Not visitors from the clans. A visitor of the more… _magical_ kind.”

Claudia clapped her hands, dark green eyes bright with excitement. “The selkie!”

Viren crossed to the bank of tall, well-stocked shelves along the wall of his lab. He pulled a trunk from a high shelf and withdrew a lightweight fur cloak. The silvery-white material seemed to gleam even in the dim light of Viren’s underground lab. He held it up for his children to see. “The coat I recovered from one of the northern villages. A selkie’s coat is a part of their very essence. The creature will have no choice but to come for it, or it will sicken and die.”

Soren looked a little green, but Claudia didn’t appear fazed, expression as eager as ever. Viren’s daughter had shown an aptitude for the magical arts and he had taken it upon himself to train her accordingly.

“With a selkie in my possession, I will have nearly all the elements I need to enact my plan. All that is left is to determine the best place and time to enact the spells.” Viren scowled; that wasn’t normally a concern of his. With dark magic, the strength of the spell relied only on the chants and the type of magical essence used, not the relation of the physical realm to the magical one.

Claudia pouted. “Does that mean you _still_ need me to pour through all those boring old books for mentions of ancient primal mages’ magic?”

Soren rolled his eyes. “You mean convince the nerdy little step-prince to do it for you.”

Claudia slugged him in the arm, despite his crownguard armor. “Callum doesn’t do _all_ of it. I help him.”

“To answer your question, Claudia, yes,” Viren said as he replaced the cloak on its shelf. “We can’t enact the plans until we know the best conditions for us to have the selkie sing its song. The research you brought has been helpful, but we need circumstances specific to a selkie. A key is of no use at the wrong door.” He turned back toward his children. “And we can’t open the door at all without the key. Soren, double the guard in and around the castle. The rising tensions with the northern clans is excuse enough. Claudia, set several wards around the lab to alert us if anyone comes sneaking around.”

“You got it!” Claudia said cheerfully, already sashaying over to one of the ingredient-filled shelves. Soren echoed her sentiment and headed back up to the castle proper.

Though of course he didn’t smile, Viren’s spirits lifted slightly. After decades of work, his life’s ambition was lingering just over the horizon.

xXx

Marcos was bored. And tired. Mostly tired.

He was leaning back against the inside balustrade. Normally he wouldn’t affect such a casual stance while on watch on the castle wall, but he had slogged through the storm and mud on his patrol the night before, and had only gotten about four hours of sleep before his watch began that afternoon.

A sudden movement and noise farther along the wall caught his attention. A slight figure pulled themself over the ledge with what looked almost like a pair of scythes. They collapsed on the stone walkway, breathing hard. Their face was shadowed by a hood, but their leather armor and wicked metal blades signaled malicious intent.

Well, the fact that they’d scaled the wall instead of coming through the gate alluded to that, too.

Marcos gave a shout and rushed toward the figure, drawing his sword. The person assumed a fighting stance with inhuman speed, curved blades suddenly straight. As fast as thought, Marcos was disarmed and on his knees with the swords crossed at his throat.

His mouth was dry, his voice gone. White hair and blue tattoos were now visible beneath the hood, but all that left his awareness when he met the intruder’s gaze. For a single, endless moment, the only thing in the world were ethereal lavender eyes.

“Please,” Marcos whispered.

Something in the eyes shifted, and the spell broke. The pressure on his neck released and something connected with his temple—

Marcos slowly clawed his way back to awareness, the side of his head throbbing. Someone was shaking his shoulder, and he distantly heard his name being called. He groggily sat up, blinking in the fading light, eyes slowly focusing on the fellow guard crouched in front of him.

“Hey, Marcos, you okay?” the woman was asking. “What happened? That’s a nasty bump on your head there.”

Marcos blinked at her, not registering the words, barely realizing she was there. He looked around, slowly taking in his surroundings. How he managed to pass out on top of the castle wall? He’d been on watch, and then the eyes, and…

Eyes framed by the tattoos of one of the northern clans.

Marcos scrambled to his feet, regretting his haste as his vision swam. He had to…he had to tell someone. He had to sound the alarm. Stomach heaving, he leaned against the wall for support. His fellow guard exclaimed in concern, steadying him.

He looked at her, finally noticing her presence. “Intruder,” he croaked. “Blue tattoos.”

Her eyes widened. “Oh, _shit_.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And next time is when the real action starts!
> 
> I'm not entirely pleased with this chapter, but eventually realized I was reworking it to death and really just needed to be done with it. I think part of it was how many different POVs were juggled--there won't be as many switches in future chapters, but there wasn't a way around it for what I wanted to express in this chapter. I was trying to formulate some exposition without info-dumping or being too boring, so let me know how I did :)


	3. Cloaks and Daggers

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A heartfelt thank you to everyone who has kudosed or commented on this story! You guys are wonderful :)

The rich carpet meant that Callum’s footsteps didn’t echo down the long hallway, which to him made it seem even emptier. The serene suits of armor lining the walls and somber banners reaching down from the vaulted ceiling only added to the gravity he felt inside.

After his talk with his stepfather, he wanted nothing more than to isolate himself in the library and lose himself in stories and legends to escape all the difficult emotions churning inside. But the more practical side of him admitted that he really shouldn’t be alone following a conversation like that—and anyway, he _had_ promised Ezran he’d join him afterwards. Decision made, albeit reluctantly, he adjusted his course down towards the castle kitchens.

Hoping to raise his spirits a bit, Callum began humming a lively but melancholy tune from one of the songs his mother used to sing to him. Rapping his fingers against the sketchbook belted over his shoulder, it wasn’t long before he was softly singing the words.

_Saeta-Ceatia sciamh-ne riabhanach_

_Saeta-Ceatia nuige Tír na nÓg_

_Saeta-Ceatia sciamh-ne riabhanach_

_Nuige, Tír na nÓg_

_Tír na nÓg_

_Oh_

_Come beyond the ancient fog_

_Tír na nÓg_

_Oh_

_Come with me to Tír na nÓg_

As he passed a side corridor, a flurry of light and movement caught Callum’s eye. He reflexively glanced over, then did a double-take. The lyrics died on his lips.

About a stone’s throw down the side passage, a dozen or so points of light were spinning through the air like so many shining dust-motes. They whirled around in a mesmerizing dance, weaving in and out of the sunbeams and shadows.

Callum blinked several times and rubbed his eyes vigorously. The lights were still there.

Entranced, he wandered into the side corridor towards them. In the back of his mind, he realized that approaching some unknown, clearly magical entity was probably not the smartest idea, but he couldn’t help himself. The little orbs gave a faint blueish-white glow, pulsing like living things. As he approached, he extended his hand toward them, and they eddied around it like a flowing stream parting around a rock. Whispers of air like a soft breeze ghosted up his arm. A delighted laugh escaped him.

The lights’ dance quickened and they began to move farther down the hallway. Callum followed. It occurred to him that this was an excellent setup for some awful misfortune of legendary proportions to befall him. But then again, most of those tales occurred out in a desolate nighttime forest or misty bogland, not an occupied castle in the middle of the day. And really, he couldn’t help himself.

Heart much lighter, he picked up the song again, and the lights seemed to dance to the tune.

_Come my love, our worlds may part_

_The gods will guide us across the dark_

_Come with me, and be mine my love_

_Stay and break my heart_

_From the shores through the ancient mists_

_You bear the mark of my elven kiss_

_Clear the way, I will take you home_

_To eternal bliss_

_Saeta-Ceatia sciamh-ne riabhanach_

_Saeta-Ceatia nuige Tír na nÓg_

_Saeta-Ceatia sciamh-ne riabhanach_

_Nuige, Tír na nÓg_

The lights turned down a recessed stairway half hidden in the wall, one Callum hadn’t taken or even noticed before. As he marshalled himself to follow, a rustle sounded behind him. He hesitated, but just when he’d thought he imagined it, he heard it again. He shook his head wryly, figuring Ezran must be trying to get the drop on him.

“You know you can’t sneak up on me,” Callum said teasingly, and turned to face his little brother.

But it wasn’t Ezran.

The slim figure creeping up behind him was a good deal taller than the younger prince, and wearing dark form-fitting clothes advertising a much different shape. She straightened and lowered her hood, revealing a girl around Callum’s height with a fierce expression on her face.

“Uh—uh—you’re not who I thought you…” Callum trailed off as his eyes were drawn to the wicked-looking weapons in her hands, fashioned in a style he’d never seen before. “You’re one of those…with the…”

The girl smirked. “Oh, you don’t like my tattoos?” Her voice had a heavy northern accent.

“No. I mean, yeah. Yes, I do, I guess,” Callum stuttered. The blue marks under her eyes were rather striking, actually, especially contrasted with her oddly white hair. “I mean…I meant the pointy”—he gulped—“swords.” He backed up a few steps, but stopped in his tracks when one of the aforementioned blades suddenly aimed directly at him.

“That’s far enough,” the stranger said. “I’m lookin’ for somethin’.”

“Oh.” Callum’s mind raced. “Uh, did you check back there?” he asked, pointing off to the side.

Wonder of wonders, she actually looked. With the instant she was distracted, Callum yanked on the tapestry hung on the wall beside them and pulled it down on top of her. With a strangled yelp, the girl crashed to the floor under the heavy material. Callum turned and ran.

Unfortunately, though not surprisingly, Callum soon heard rapid footsteps behind him. Working from his memories of the castle’s layout, he raced down routes he hoped would have enough turns and obstacles to lose his pursuer. But the girl was good, and she continued to gain on him.

Absently, he realized the floating lights had vanished. _I wonder where they went_ , said the inquisitive part of his brain. _That’s really not important right now,_ the terrified practical part snapped back. Dashing down another hallway, Callum recognized the double doors at the end and plowed through, hoping against hope there would be someone in the study despite the late hour. “Lord Viren! Claudia! Anyone!”

But of course, it was empty.

Callum had just enough time to register this and feel his stomach drop to his shoes before a rough shove from behind announced his pursuer’s arrival and sent him tumbling to the floor. He scrambled ungracefully into a sitting position, turning to face the intruder, discouraged from rising any farther by the sword leveled at him.

His initial shock gone, Callum could observe more about his assailant. She appeared near his own age, but lithe and muscular and possessing the confident grace of a trained combatant. Her hair, though full and healthy, was indeed a silvery white he’d never seen on someone so young. Her dark clothes were practical, but her twin swords were more decorative than anything Katolin soldiers used. The handles and even the blades were intricately carved, and the artist in him marveled at them even as he wanted very much to get as far away from them as possible.

“You don’t _have_ to die,” the girl said, advancing.

Callum scooted backwards as fast as he dared. “Well, that’s a relief,” he said, feeling profoundly unrelieved. His back collided with Lord Viren’s desk.

“Your soldiers took somethin’ of mine in their raid. I’m here to get it back.”

“How do you know they were Katolin?” Callum asked. “Why would we provoke more fighting after peace wa so hard to achieve?”

“I can’t begin to fathom what twisted reasons you people have,” she said. “But the dead raiders’ swords were of Katolin make. And even the vilest brigands wouldn’t attack on the equinox. Only southerners would consider that.”

Callum winced. The swords could have been stolen, but the other accusation was harder to explain away. With his extensive knowledge of the old legends, coupled with the well-known superstitious nature of the northern clans, he knew it was likely she spoke the truth. “What makes you think whatever you’re looking for is here?” he asked, trying a different tack.

Uncertainty flashed across her face, but it was gone in an instant. “I have my sources. But _I’m_ asking the questions here.” She took another step forward. “Where would your soldiers here keep their plunder?”

“I honestly have no idea!” Callum flattened himself against the desk, trying in vain to become one with the furniture. “The soldiers who were stationed at the Breach and the northern border outposts last winter would have gone home by now once they reported back here, and if they stole anything like you say, they probably would’ve taken it with them!”

“Not good enough. It’s here, I know it is.”

Callum threw out his arms, frustrated. “What even is ‘ _it_ ’?”

She narrowed her eyes, considering, but then apparently came to a decision. “A fur cloak. A white one.”

He stared at her, momentarily forgetting the sword an inch from his face. “You came all this way and infiltrated the most heavily guarded fortress in the kingdom for a fur coat?”

Her face soured. “Wasn’t _my_ idea,” she said, almost petulantly.

A thought occurred to Callum. In the stories, white animals were almost always tied to the mystical. “Is it magic?”

She looked at him like he’d asked if banthers could talk. “What? No.”

Flushing, Callum opened his mouth to defend his question, but a soft voice cut him off.

“Callum!”

He and the stranger blinked at each other.

“Psst, Callum!”

This time they could both pick out where it came from—a ridiculously oversized painting of a distressed shepherdess that, honestly, didn’t match the rest of the study’s Spartan decor. Callum, with a surge of alarm, realized he recognized the voice. “Shh! Go away.”

His assailant raised an eyebrow at him. “Are you talkin’ to that paintin’?”

Callum chuckled uneasily. “Uh, why would I do that? ‘Cause it’s _not a good time_!” he added, for the voice’s benefit.

“You mean, because you’re with a girl?”

Keeping one blade leveled at Callum, the girl in question stepped over to the painting. With a hearty tug, it swung it out from the wall on a hidden hinge to reveal a dark passageway and a curious little brother with an armful of jelly tarts.

“Uh…” Wide-eyed, Ezran glanced between Callum and the armed stranger several times before settling on the latter. Flashing a winning smile, he held out a pastry to her. “...jelly tart?”

Callum jumped hastily to his feet, having changed his priorities from getting the swords away from him to making himself the prime target. “Ez, get out of here!”

“But I might know where her cloak is!” Ez said earnestly. “You said it might be magic?”

The girl frowned at him, and Callum rolled his eyes. “Ez, she’s an intruder. An intruder with very pointy, very dangerous swords.”

“But if it’s true that some of our soldiers stole something from her, shouldn’t we help her get it back?”

Callum huffed in exasperation. “We wouldn’t even know where to start looking!”

“But I _do_!” Ezran insisted. “If it’s magic, it was probably stolen by the same person who captured Bait, so it’s probably in the same place.”

“Ez. This is _really_ not the time for one of your stories. Bait is _not real_ and there isn’t an evil magic dungeon under the castle.”

Ezran’s brow furrowed, hurt shadowing his face. “You don’t believe me?”

Callum felt a stab of guilt, but before he could say anything, the stranger beat him to it. “You can lead me to my cloak?” She’d lowered her blades while observing this odd turn of events, but now she lifted one to point at Ezran again, and Callum tensed.

“I can lead you to where it _might_ be,” Ezran said, “which is where I found Bait.” He looked at Callum again, his eyes sad, then turned to look farther down the passageway he stood in. “Please, Bait? They won’t believe me otherwise.”

There was a pregnant pause, and then…a resigned croak?

Ezran’s face instantly brightened. “Thanks, buddy!” He stepped out of sight for a moment, then reappeared with something in his arms—a plump, cat-sized amphibian-looking creature with heavy jowls and splotched with bright colors.

Both Callum and the intruder stared stupidly at it. “That’s…a glow toad,” Callum said, dumbfounded.

“What on earth is a fae creature doing _here_?” the girl said, sounding similarly flabbergasted.

“I told you, I found him in this really creepy secret dungeon,” Ezran said. “He said a dark mage captured him to use him for evil spells.”

The stranger girl’s face darkened.

“But there aren’t any dark mages in Katolis,” Callum said, though he sounded unsure even to himself. After all, he hadn’t thought his brother actually had a secret magic pet, either.

Ezran shrugged. “I’m just telling you what he said. But I can take you there. Do you believe me now?”

“Kind of hard not to,” the intruder said dryly. She lowered her swords. “And I’m runnin’ out of time and ideas, so…”

“Wait, no, uh-uh,” Callum protested. “Ez, she’s dangerous, and we don’t know anything about her. Other than that she’s from an enemy country.”

“But Callum, it’s the right thing to do. You and Dad always say I should be just and fair.” The glow toad, Bait, croaked in agreement.

The girl casually twirled her blades, as if to remind Callum they were also a good reason to help her. “If he wants to help me, let him. But”—she leveled a blade at Callum again, tapping him on the nose with it—“no funny business.”

Callum swallowed. For better or worse, letting Ezran lead them…wherever appeared to be the safest option at the moment. “Okay, then.” He glanced at Ezran. “Lead the way.”

Nodding solemnly, Ezran turned and began to walk down the passageway.

The tunnel was long and dark, but Bait’s glow gave off plenty of light to see by. Ezran went first, carrying Bait and followed closely by Callum, who though still rather wary of the stranger’s swords was determined to keep himself between her and his little brother. The white-haired girl followed last. She kept her swords out, clearly not trusting the princes.

At first, the passage was level if a bit winding, with other hallways branching off. The whole structure appeared built with the same kind of stones and stylization as the oldest parts of the castle. Callum had never spent much time in the hidden tunnels before; he hadn’t realized how extensive they actually were. The still air held a chill, and he pulled his jacket tighter around him with a shiver. They soon came to a steep, curved staircase, and without hesitation Ezran confidently led them downward.

Callum didn’t particularly want to have a Big Feelings Time in front of a stranger, but he knew Ezran was upset and felt awful about it. He didn’t want this hanging between him and his little brother. He quickened his pace to come down behind Ezran’s shoulder. “Ez, I’m sorry I didn’t believe you about Bait.”

Ezran didn’t look at him, but the glow toad gazed at him dolefully over the boy’s shoulder. “What else don’t you believe me about?”

Callum sighed, and ran a hand through his hair. “Now? I’m not sure. But honestly, most of your stories are pretty hard to believe.” He chuckled humorlessly. “I mean, really, raccoons telling you about hidden treasure?”

“Yeah,” Ezran muttered, tightening his hold on Bait. “I guess that does sound kinda crazy.”

Callum put a hand on his shoulder. “But I promise, I’ll be better about listening to you from here on out.”

Ezran still didn’t look at him, but he nodded.

Callum sighed. “I was a real jerkface just now, wasn’t I?”

“You were.” Ezran side-eyed him, adding slyly, “You know what that means.”

Callum cast a mortified look over his shoulder at the northerner girl, who was watching them suspiciously. “Yeah, yeah, I know, but…not right now,” Callum said.

Ezran grinned. “But soon.”

By the time they reached the bottom of the staircase, the darkness surrounding the pale light of the glow toad was total. Down here, from what they could see, the stones were cracked and uneven from years of damp and decay taking their toll. Dark, slimy things grew between and across many of the stones, and it seemed to Callum that there were whispers in the dark just below the range of his hearing. Even the northerner girl looked unsettled, her posture tense. As Ezran led them on, Callum began to hum again to calm his nerves.

“Where did you learn that song?” came a voice next to his ear. “You were singing it earlier, too.”

Callum yelped and jumped to the side, not having realized the stranger had come up that close beside him. She watched him, amused, as he smoothed his tunic and cleared his throat in an attempt to regain some dignity.

“My mom used to sing to me when I was little,” he said as they continued after Ezran. “I still find that humming or singing her songs can help me relax. Sorry if it bothered you.”

“No. No, it’s…nice,” the girl said, an odd look on her face. “You can keep going.”

Callum, feeling self-conscious, didn’t really want to. But he figured it would be rude not to, and he didn’t particularly want to offend the armed stranger. He picked up the tune again.

After several more yards, Ezran slowed to a stop, and the two caught up with him. Just as Callum went to ask about the delay, he realized that the Bait’s glow wasn’t the only light source anymore.

The little floating lights had reappeared, swirling just above their heads. The three humans and the glow toad gawked at them. Fascinated, Ezran reached up towards one. It danced just out of his reach, but several others spun around his head, and he giggled. “These are new!”

The stranger opened her palm, and several faerie lights drifted down to circle above it. Her brow furrowed. “I’ve seen these before…” She glared at Callum, as though it were somehow his fault. “What kind of castle is this?”

“Hey, I’ve never seen these before today!” Callum protested.

The lights looped around them a few more moments before drifting down the passage ahead of them. Excited, Ezran scampered after them, and the other two jogged after to keep up. They turned a corner and came to a halt, seemingly at a dead end. The lights swirled down towards the floor in the center of the area.

Ezran beamed. “It’s like they know where we’re going!” He shifted Bait in his grip to tuck the glow toad under one arm, and hopped up to the far wall. “Time for a puzzle!”

As Callum and the stranger watched, increasingly confused, Ezran began pressing on different stones in the wall in some seemingly-indecipherable pattern. “Rock, rock, stone, rock, stone, stone…”

“Wait, what’s the difference between the rocks and the stones?” Callum asked, leaning in.

“Arrrggghhh!” Ezran stopped his strange ritual and glared at his brother over his shoulder. “You made me do stone instead of rock!” Grumbling, he turned back to the wall and started over. Feeling sheepish, Callum stepped back.

“This just keeps getting weirder and weirder,” the northerner said, and Callum nodded in complete agreement.

Grinning triumphantly, Ezran turned around. A sudden grinding echoed through the chamber. Callum and the stranger scrambled back as the floor began to collapse into a spiral staircase. The faerie lights drifted down as the steps settled with an ominous boom. Callum and the girl looked down into the black, then at each other, and then at Ezran.

“It took me over a month to figure out that combination,” the young prince said proudly.

Callum and the girl glanced at each other again. She shrugged, and with a flick of her wrists collapsed her blades in on themselves and holstered them on her back. Well, they’d come this far. Despite his nervousness, Callum’s curiosity was definitely overriding his sense of self-preservation at this point.

All the stories about normal people who made stupid decisions and got themselves mixed up in messes way over their head suddenly made a whole lot more sense.

With Bait and the swirling lights to guide the way, the trio cautiously descended into the gloom. When the chamber opened up before them, they each faltered to a halt, wide-eyed.

“What is this place?” the northerner asked, disgust in her voice.

Wall sconces holding strange blue crystals provided the chamber with eerie dim light. Tall shelves took up much of the walls, broken by large metal grates presumably leading to other chambers. The shelves were cluttered with bizarre, dreadful artifacts—small animals with unseeing eyes preserved in jars, trays of gleaming bones, pots growing twisted plants. At the end of the room stood a desk strewn with dark books covered in harsh runes, the wall behind it tacked with a large map of Katolis surrounded by unsettling diagrams. A hearth beneath gave a faint glow of dying embers tinged with green.

The faerie lights, looking almost sickly in the unsettling ambience, drifted towards one of the shelves. The children followed wordlessly. Distracted, Callum tripped over a chipped statue of a snarling beast. Ezran edged away from a line of sinister-looking tools hung on the wall. The girl’s nose scrunched up at a collection of pickled bat wings.

They came to a stop as the lights gathered around a trunk on the highest shelf, at least half a meter over Callum’s head. He reached up but barely brushed it with the tips of his fingers. “There’s gotta be a stool around somewhere, unless whosever lab this is happens to be really tall…”

Ezran scampered over to the desk and began to tug on the severe-looking chair behind it. The girl crossed over to help him. Together they lugged it over beneath where the trunk sat, and Callum clambered up. He hesitated, not wanting to disturb the floating lights, but then reached through them to grasp the trunk.

He pulled it off the shelf a little too eagerly, however, and leaned back too far. He took a step back to catch his balance, but his foot fell through empty air. “Whoa—!”

“Look out—!”

Callum plummeted for a split second, then felt sturdy arms wrap around him from behind. He landed heavily in someone’s lap, hearing them grunt as the two of them hit the floor. He winced as the trunk slammed onto his thighs—that was going to leave a bruise.

He shoved the trunk from his lap and scrambled off the person beneath him. He turned on the floor to face the northerner girl. The faery lights swirled between them, around their heads.

Callum knew he was blushing. “Thanks,” he said awkwardly, ignoring his snickering brother.

“Don’t mention it,” the girl muttered. She made it sound like a warning, but her face wasn’t as severe as her tone; she almost looked embarrassed herself.

The two of them lifted the trunk to the desk, shoving books to the side. Callum reached for the clasp, paused, then stepped back and gestured to the girl. She hesitated, searching his face, then opened it. All three of them peered in together, and Ezran gasped.

She pulled out a gorgeous fur cloak the same silvery-white as her hair. It looked impossibly soft, but though Callum wanted badly to stroke it, he got the sense he shouldn’t.

Ezran’s eyes shone. “I knew it had to be magical!”

The stranger looked uneasy. “No, it’s not. It’s just a fur cloak.”

“Then why did the clearly magical floating lights lead us too it?” he retorted, absently trailing the drifting spheres over to the other side of the desk.

The girl shrugged, biting her lip. She glanced around the chamber and shivered. “Let’s get out of here. This place gives me the creeps.”

“You don’t need to tell me twice,” Callum agreed. “C’mon Ez, let’s go.”

But the younger prince had noticed the lights were regrouping. Though now not nearly as numerous, they circled a shape draped in a long sheet, rounded at the top and about the height of Ezran himself. The boy tentatively placed a hand to it. “Guys,” he said slowly, “There’s something alive over here.”

“Okay, yup, definitely time to go,” Callum said, weirded out well past his ability to tolerate. “There is no way that can be at all—No, Ez, _wait_ —”

Ez yanked away the sheet, and this time all of them gasped.

On a waist-high pedestal sat a gleaming egg the size of watermelon. It shone from within, colored in cool pastels that cast a soft light across the chamber. The last of the faery lights faded in its glow. Callum gazed at it, mesmerized. It was _beautiful_.

“That…that can only be a dragon egg,” the northerner stammered. “But no one has seen a dragon in _decades_.”

“The lost egg of the Dragon Prince,” Callum murmured. The girl shot him a disbelieving look. Ezran’s eyes were the size of dinner plates.

But really, what else could it be?

xXx

Runaan’s cold fury had stayed with him from the moment he’d found Rayla’s letter to his current spot crouched atop the wall of Castle Katolis. Running off to steal her coat back _before_ the mission was a recipe for disaster. Rayla was talented, but she was inexperienced. One tiny mistake, and she could alert the whole castle to the team’s presence before they would even arrive, putting their mission and their lives in jeopardy.

And naturally, that appeared to be exactly what had happened.

By the light of the full moon, Runaan and his team—the four that remained—observed the clamor in the courtyard below. They had quickly and quietly crossed the moat, scaled the walls of Castle Katolis, and efficiently neutralized nearby guards, using tricks of the shadows to hide the bodies. But despite their caution, soldiers already rushed about the brightly-lit keep, mustering in different areas as commanders shouted orders. Much of the words were lost in the noise, but Runaan distinctly heard the words “intruder”, “tattoos”, and “search”.

Runaan narrowed his eyes. The assassin huddled against the parapet next to him swore vehemently.

“The witch-child got herself seen,” another muttered.

“Knew she was nothin’ but bad luck.”

Runaan’s knuckles went white as his grip on his bow tightened, but he clamped down on the resurgence of anger that rose within him. As much as he despised the mindset that gave rise to the comments, they weren’t entirely wrong on the reality of their current situation. And he couldn’t afford cause more division in the team now.

“We’ll have to change our plan of attack,” Runaan said, turning to the others. “We’ve lost the element of surprise, and once the Katolins have mobilized their first move will be to relocate their king to a more secure location. We must strike before they have a chance to do so.”

“We do have one thing goin’ for us,” one of the assassins said. “They’ll lead us right to the bloke.”

Runaan didn’t smile, of course, but he allowed a satisfied smirk to cross his face.

xXx

Lord Viren stormed down the corridor, seething, his staff striking against the stones harder than necessary. Soren hurried a half step behind him, in turn followed by the members of the Crownguard that could be scrambled on such short notice. It seemed to Viren the closer he got to his goal, the more distractions blocked his path. But he couldn’t ignore a threat like this. Hopefully, the warning they’d been given would be enough to end this quickly.

Those damned savages. He honestly hadn’t thought they’d retaliate this quickly. Once the safety of humankind was assured, he’d make them know their place.

The alarm bells began to toll as the party approached the throne room doors. Impatiently, Viren waved the alarmed guards aside and pushed open the heavy doors himself.

King Harrow strode towards him across the marble floor, leaving the confused military advisors he’d been conversing with at the strategy table. “Viren, what is happening? What is the meaning of this?”

“An intruder has been spotted infiltrating the castle grounds,” Viren said. Behind him, Soren barked orders to the Crownguard, setting up a defensive line within the columns lining the vast hall. “She incapacitated a guard on the walls at some point earlier today, and he was only just found. He claims the intruder was marked with blue tattoos, and wearing dark leather armor.”

Harrow took in a breath. “An assassin, then. From the northern clans.” Alarm flashed across his face. “She’s been here for hours, but there’s been no attacks on me. Where are the boys?”

“We’ve sent guards to retrieve them,” Viren assured him. “I’m sure they’re fine.”

“For now, we need to get you somewhere more secure. The throne room is too open,” Soren said, jerking a thumb at the shadowed colonnade and the nighttime darkness outside the arching windows. “The intruder’s description fits one of the Clan of the Moon, and since they often work in teams…” he trailed off, knowing he didn’t need to finish that sentence, and instead began waving the advisors towards the doors. “Out! Everyone out!”

Harrow’s face hardened into an expression Viren knew well, even more severe in the flickering torchlight. “I’m not going into hiding until I know my sons are safe.”

“Not hiding—just somewhere more defensible! You won’t do the princes any good if you’re killed.”

Frustration and concern warred across the king’s features. He ran a hand down his face. “Right. You’re right.” He turned and crossed back the way he’d come, retrieving his sword where it stood in its sheath against the table.

By this point the advisors had all exited. The remaining Crownguard circled warily around, and Soren fidgeted impatiently next to Viren. “Come on, we have to go.”

Harrow chuckled and made to give a wry retort, but broke off, frowning at something over their shoulders.

Viren barely had time to turn when the four massive windows at the corners of the throne room shattered inward simultaneously, and all the lights blew out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song is from "Tír na nÓg" by Celtic Woman. If I had a dollar for every Celtic Woman or Julie Fowlis song I've listened to while planning and writing this fic, I could pay off my student loans.
> 
> It was honestly kind of annoying to use epithets to refer to Rayla for basically the entire chapter, but there wasn't really a spot where I felt she'd be comfortable sharing her name, or one of the kids being comfortable asking for it, so ah well.


	4. Magic and Mayhem

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for a fair amount of violence in this chapter, but it's all canon typical.
> 
> This chapter took much longer than I thought--it turns out I greatly overestimated the energy i'd have for creative things while moving (and even for a while after). Oops! Hope this chapter is worth the wait :)

Rayla had never seen a dragon egg—no one had for generations—but there wasn’t anything else it could be. Fractals of color dotted the shell in a beautiful organic pattern. Bathed in its slightly pulsing glow, Rayla could almost ignore the revolting room around them and the rising queasiness in her stomach. Placing her cloak on the table, she crouched in front of it, a dozen questions flashing through her mind. What was it doing here—and who had brought it? Where had it come from? Where were its parents? Did the Fae know it was here, or that it existed at all?

The wee boy, Ez-something, rested a hand on the egg protectively. “He’s okay in there,” he said earnestly. “I can feel it!”

Rayla met his open face and wide smile, and felt her own composure soften.

“But what is it doing here?” asked the taller boy—Callum, she was pretty sure he’d been called. “What is _any_ of this stuff doing here?”

“My father needs it to protect us.”

Rayla whirled to face the new speaker, unsheathing her butterfly blades to their full length and adopting a defensive stance.

Descending the last few steps of the spiral staircase was a young woman in a severe black dress. The sickly crystal lights gave an odd tint to the gold trim of her clothes. A butterfly, of all things, perched in one of her hands. She raised the other towards Rayla in a vaguely hostile gesture and frowned at her. “Callum, Ezran, get behind me. I can protect you from that primitive wretch.”

The boys came up to flank Rayla on either side, the egg now in Ezran’s arms. “Claudia, what is this place?” Callum asked, taking another few steps towards the newcomer.

“This chamber is my father’s laboratory,” the young woman said. “It’s where he does his _real_ work, with the help of these magical items he’s collected.”

Callum sucked in a breath. “You’re saying Lord Viren is a dark mage.” Rayla tightened her grip on her swords as her stomach lurched. A dark mage’s laboratory. _Of course._

“That egg is a powerful source of magic,” Claudia said. “He needs it for a spell to defend _all_ humankind from the powerful beings who threaten us.”

“What’re you talkin’ about? What’s threatenin’ us?” Rayla asked.

Claudia scoffed. “Don’t play dumb. Your people have been under the influence of the Fae for centuries. You know it’s a powerful weapon.”

“It’s not a weapon,” Rayla said hotly. “It’s an _egg_.”

Callum looked pale in the eerie light of the chamber, not appearing any more comfortable about the apparent proximity of dark magic than Rayla was. He bit his lip. “The king doesn’t know about any of this. Does he?”

“Of course not,” Claudia said. “You know he’s opposed to magic. Dad’s been working on getting him to change his mind, but hasn’t managed it yet.” She looked over to Ezran, who stood between her and Rayla, silently watching the exchange. “Ezran, don’t be afraid. Walk towards me, and if she moves even an inch…” Clenching her fist, Claudia crushed the butterfly, wreathing her hand in crackling green energy.

The pressure in the room began to drop, and Rayla felt the hair on her arms stand straight up as the atmosphere charged. Her rebellious stomach escalated to full-on nausea, and she clenched her teeth. Twirling her swords, she strengthened her stance.

“It’s all right, Ez, it’s me,” Claudia said. “Just bring that thing here.”

“It’s not a thin’!” Rayla snapped. “It has a home, wherever your da took it from, and it needs to go back to it.”

“You’re right,” Ezran said slowly. “He wants to go home.”

Claudia’s eyes narrowed. “Ezran, be careful.”

From the corner of her eye, Rayla saw Ezran look at her. She risked a glance at him and flashed a confident smile.

Ezran’s face set with determination. “Follow me.” He turned and dashed through one of the open metal grates. After a split second of hesitation—what the _hell_ had she gotten herself into—and a stumble as she nearly lost her lunch, Rayla raced after him.

As she rounded a corner, Rayla heard Claudia say, “Don’t worry, I won’t hit Ez!” A bright flash illuminated the underground maze, followed by a thunderous crash from behind them. Pressure returned to normal so fast Rayla’s ears popped.

Slowing, Ezran cast a worried glance over his shoulder. But Callum appeared in the tunnel behind them, skidding ungainly on the stone floor. “Keep going, keep going!”

The three of them raced through a half-dozen passageways before slowing to a halt by unspoken agreement. As they all caught their breath, Rayla positioned herself between the boys and the way they’d come. She watched warily for any pursuit, but Callum shook his head and tiredly waved her off.

“She’s not coming,” he said between pants. “I think she got knocked out.”

Rayla raised her eyebrows at him, but sheathed her swords.

“What was that bright light and the noise?” Ezran asked. He sprawled on his back, the egg balanced on his belly. The glow toad, Bait, flopped on the ground next to him, thick tongue lolling. Rayla was somewhat surprised it had managed to keep up, but was immensely grateful. Now that they were back in the tunnels, their only sources of light consisted of the dragon egg and the fae creature.

Callum smoothed down his staticky brown hair as he straightened from his recovery crouch. “I, uh, kinda knocked Claudia off balance and her spell…misfired, I think? It exploded in on itself or something, and the shockwave knocked her back into the wall. I think she hit her head kinda hard.” Guilt and concern shadowed his face. “I hope she’s okay.”

“I hope so too,” Ezran said. “But you’re okay, right?”

“Yeah. I got off easy, compared to Claudia and the rest of the room,” Callum said with a small grin. “The place is a complete mess, now.”

Rayla crossed her arms. “Good,” she said haughtily. Her stomach was starting to settle, but she still felt a wee bit ill. “I hope her stupid spell wrecked that awful—” Her eyes widened. “My coat!” She turned to run back.

“No, it’s okay!” A hand closed on her arm. She yanked it free and turned with a scowl to face an earnest-looking Callum. “I grabbed it on my way out.” He reached into his satchel and pulled out the silvery-white fur.

Rayla snatched it back before he even had a chance to offer it to her.

Annoyance flashed across Callum’s face. “You’re welcome,” he huffed.

Rayla felt her cheeks flaming. She knew that had been rude. But that awful room still had her on edge. “Thanks.”

Callum just shrugged and stiffly turned his back to her. He crouched down next to Ezran, now sitting up, the egg in his lap giving his brown face a blue cast. “Lord Viren ordered the raids on the northern clans,” Callum said, glancing up at Rayla. “There’s no way he’s been able to find all that fae stuff in Katolin lands. But he had to do it on the down-low, because he knew the king wouldn’t approve.” He looked at the egg in Ezran’s arms. “I wonder where he found the egg, if that was in the clan lands as well.”

“That’s all very fascinatin’,” Rayla said, belting her cloak around her waist, “but I need you to give it to me. I have to get it to the surface right away.”

Ezran looked up at her in surprise. “What? Why?”

Rayla wasn’t entirely convinced that their king knew nothing about the raids, but if there was a chance, then she couldn’t stand by and let an innocent man be killed. That wouldn’t be justice. (Well, he might not be _innocent_ as far as it went, but at least not for a crime he didn’t commit.) And at any rate, she needed to warn Runaan that there was a dark mage about. “Just…trust me.”

“Right, right, that makes sense, since we go way back.” Callum jumped to his feet to glare at her, though the gesture wasn’t as effective as he probably hoped given the fact that he stood a good several inches shorter. “Like that one time, ten minutes ago, when you were chasing me through the castle trying to _stab me_. Ha-ha, good times!”

“You may not realize it, but I’m tryin’ to help you,” Rayla snapped. “Any moment now, others will be arrivin’. Others like me!”

The boys just looked at her—Callum, warily confused, and Ezran just confused. Rayla rolled her eyes. “Assassins!”

Callum paled, leaning away from her. “You—they—you’re after the king.” Ezran clapped a hand to his mouth.

“We thought your king ordered the raids, so the clan chiefs decided to…neutralize him.”

“How does that solve anything?”

“It was justice! Katolis attacked us unprovoked!”

“So it’s okay for you to do the same thing?” Callum shot back.

“Well, no, it’s not the same thin’, because _we’re_ attackin’ you _provoked_.” Frustrated, Rayla shook her head. By the blasted new moon, why was this bothering them so much?

“But he didn’t,” Ezran said, voice small.

“I know that _now_ ,” Rayla said. “I have to show them these things to stop them.” The rest of the assassins didn’t trust her as far as they could throw her, but Runaan was their leader, and he would. Wouldn’t he?

Ezran searched her face, looking torn. “I’ll take you back to the surface,” he said finally, and turned away to start down the passage. Callum smirked at her as he followed.

Scowling, Rayla clenched and unclenched her fists several times, then let out a breath. Well, it was a start. Once they got back up to the surface, they’d see.

xXx

They came out of the tunnels on the ground level of the castle, across the hall from a short door through which wafted the scents of newly baked goods. As they squeezed through the hidden exit alcove into the larger hallway, alarm bells started to sound.

Rayla cursed. “We’re too late!” She looked back at Callum and Ezran. “Where is your king? We need to get over there!”

“You _literally_ just told us you’re an assassin!” Callum said crossly as he helped the egg-carrying Ezran pull his stuffed backpack—what on earth did he have in there?—through the narrow opening. “Why would we tell you? This could be a trick.” Bait croaked in agreement at their feet.

Exasperated, Rayla threw out her arms in a sweeping gesture. “Your people are already aware there’s trouble! _I’m_ hardly goin’ to be a threat if they know I’m comin’.” They were running out of time. She could think of one more way to try to get them to trust her, though her nape prickled with unease just considering it. The gesture would probably be lost on the southerners anyway, but she didn’t have any other options.

Rayla met Ezran’s eyes solemnly, and he returned her gaze with equal weight. She raised her eyes to Callum, who glared back distrustfully.

“My name is Rayla,” she said quietly, “of the village of Silvercoast of the Clan of the Moon.”

Ezran looked perplexed, but shock flashed across Callum’s face. Though clearly still wary, he now looked more thoughtful than hostile. So he did recognize what she was doing. Interesting.

Callum slowly let out his breath. “Okay.” He exchanged a look with Ezran, and something passed between them. Ezran adjusted his grip on the egg and nodded, biting his lip. Callum looked back to Rayla. “The king is probably in the throne room at a strategy meeting.”

Most of the guards appeared to be mobilizing out in the castle courtyard, making it relatively easy for the three of them to pass through the halls without being seen. At least, for the moment. Rayla knew that wouldn’t last; soon the castle and the grounds would be swarming with search parties. They rushed around a corner into banner-lined hallway. About halfway down stood a pair of doors that were easily the biggest Rayla had ever seen. The muffled sounds of battle cries and metal-on-metal carried down the hall towards them.

The group slowly approached the doors, coming to a stop just in front of them. They all looked at each other, each realizing at about the same time that they hadn’t really thought out this part.

Ezran reached for Callum’s hand. Taking it, Callum looked at Rayla over his brother’s fluffy hair. “So are we just gonna…open the door and yell at everyone to stop?”

Before Rayla could comment on what a stellar plan _that_ was, they all flinched as something smashed into the doors from the other side. Metal glinted through the splintered wood. The doors shuddered as the blade was yanked out. One began to slowly creak inward, allowing the clamor of battle to now reach them unhindered. A form appeared in the gap.

Acting on instinct, Rayla grabbed a shirt collar in each hand and yanked the boys behind a nearby buttress, eliciting an indignant “Hey!” from Ezran and a startled “What—!” from Callum. Any further complaint was cut off by someone stumbling through the now partially-open door.

A tall figure in bulky Katolin armor staggered backwards into the hall, clearly dazed. Helmet off and blood matting his sweaty blond hair from a gash at his hairline, his sword fell from his grip and hit the floor with a ringing clang.

“Soren,” Ezran gasped and made as to step out, but both Callum and Rayla held him back as another figure strode through the doorway. Though bruised and bloodied with pale hair starting to come loose from his braid, Runaan nevertheless appeared uninjured. He shoved the Katolin guard almost casually, sending the unbalanced guard to the floor in a boneless heap. Detached as ever, Runaan raised his sword. Next to Rayla, Callum sucked in a breath.

With a hasty “ _Stay!_ ” to the boys, Rayla drew her swords as she leapt towards the near wall. She pushed off at an angle, flinging herself towards the fight.

Rayla’s blade caught Runaan’s on the downswing, meeting above the guard’s head with a resounding ring. Their eyes met, and Rayla caught a flash of relief before his expression hardened. He yanked his sword free and they spun away from each other, the unconscious guard forgotten.

“Rayla.” Runaan stood tall, swords held loose at his sides. “You defied me.”

Ignoring the pounding of her heart, Rayla sheathed her swords and straightened. She raised her hands in a placating gesture. “Runaan, you need to call off the mission.”

He scoffed, shaking his head. “You’ve lost your mind! We have already committed!”

“You need to listen to me! I found my coat”—she rested a hand on the silvery fur at her side—“but that’s not all. There’s a dark mage in the castle, and—”

“That is hardly surprising. The Katolins’ treachery knows no bounds. Another offense for their King to answer for.”

“Their king didn’t order the attacks! The dark mage stole my coat, but a couple boys led me to it, and they’re only tryin’ to help—”

“Rayla, there is _no time_.” Runaan’s voice was colder than she’d ever heard it. “Your recklessness alerted the Katolins to our presence, and may very well have killed us all. We _must_ complete our mission.” He started back towards the door, twisting his swords together into a longbow.

“But there’s no need! You’re not _listenin’_!” Rayla sprang forward, reaching for her blades.

Fast as thought, Runaan raised his bow and fired two arrows at her in quick succession. They caught the bunched up fabric of her hood just above each of her shoulders and impaled deep into the wall behind her. Another pair in quick succession pinned her gauntlets, trapping her arms at her sides. Snarling, Rayla tried to pull free, but they were deeply embedded in the mortar and she didn’t have enough leverage to pull them loose.

Watching her struggle, Runaan shook his head. “Your justice will come later.” He turned away.

“No! _Wait!_ ”

He paused, but kept his back to her. “Bringing you was a mistake. The others were right.”

Rayla froze.

Runaan slipped back into the darkness beyond the doors. Rayla stared after him, numb with shock, barely aware of the two boys rushing to her from their hiding place. As he pulled on the arrows, Callum babbled about how that didn’t look like that went well at _all_ and they needed to get to the king, but she couldn’t focus on what he was saying. Runaan’s voice echoed in her ears.

_The others were right._

xXx

Though he hadn’t had the courage to look back at Rayla when he’d said his parting words, Runaan could see the horrified betrayal on her face clearly in his mind. Shame rose to his throat like bile, but he pushed it down. He’d needed to make sure she wouldn’t try to follow. He couldn’t afford to let emotion distract him now.

At this point, only himself and two other assassins remained, but on the other side, the Katolins had been reduced from about a score to half a dozen. Among them was their king, a well-built brown-skinned man who displayed remarkable skill with his sword, and a pale advisor who was proving a more skilled adversary than Runaan would have expected, swinging around a very oddly ornate staff.

But Runaan was under no illusion he would survive this encounter. Even if they managed to slay everyone in the throne room, they wouldn’t leave the castle alive. The alarm had been sounding for a while now, and soon reinforcements would descend upon the chamber. They had to finish this quickly.

Runaan signaled to his remaining teammates, who quickly dispatched the guards they were dueling with and regrouped with him. Together they charged the Katolins, but as they engaged, one of the assassins melted back into the shadows. Runaan and the other launched a two-pronged attack on the king to distract from their colleague’s disappearance, and the remaining guards regrouped about their king to fend off the pair. The advisor broke off from the fighting to back away defensively, and Runaan dismissed him from concern.

That was his fatal mistake.

Runaan and his teammate kept the king and his two guards engaged, allowing their hidden teammate to prepare his ambush. Runaan knocked a Katolin guard to the floor and whirled to block a blow from the side, finding himself locking swords with the king. Sweat dripped from the man’s temples as the two struggled in place. With offhand interest, Runaan noted more steely resolve than hot anger in the Katolin king’s eyes. Runaan met his gaze and dipped his head in respect. Whatever he had done, the man had proved himself a worthy opponent. The king’s dark eyes flashed, and he returned the nod.

Runaan saw a flash of movement in his peripheral, but thanks to his training didn’t turn. From the shadows behind the king the third assassin appeared silently from above, dirk at the ready.

An eerie chant in an unknown language split the air. For an instant, a purple light that seemed to come from nowhere and from everywhere all at once illuminated the throne room. The shadows were wiped away, revealing every person and object in the massive hall with sharp clarity, but in a distorted flat view. Half-blinded, both Runaan and the Katolin king disengaged to instinctively shield their eyes. The light snapped out as quickly as it had come, returning the throne room to its near-total darkness, but the damage had been done. No one could see.

What the _hell_ —

A muffled thump sounded behind the king, which Runaan guessed to be the Katolin’s would-be killer hitting the floor. With a glint of barely reflected armor, the king whirled blindly towards the noise. Runaan shook his head savagely, silently cursing his vision it struggled to readjust.

Another unnerving cry, and a short burst of light like a compressed flame speared through the assassin about to stab the king. The man convulsed and collapsed with a strangled grunt. The energy dissipated in a shock wave that threw the king, Runaan, and a nearby guard backward to the stone floor. Runaan hit the ground rolling and ended in a crouch facing the source of the energy.

The advisor stood tall and regal, staff in one hand and the other wreathed in unnatural flame. His eyes were black.

Runaan’s last teammate rushed the advisor from behind, but the man spun and placed the flaming hand to the assassin’s chest. The light flared and the woman fell back without a sound. A Katolin guard scrambled to his feet with a cry of alarm, but the dark mage—he couldn’t be anything else—calmly dispatched him the same way he had the first assassin, then did the same to the remaining Katolin guard where he struggled on the floor.

“Viren, what—how—” the Katolin king looked slightly dazed, bracing himself against a column to stand. The dark mage started towards him. Runaan took the distraction to twist his swords into a longbow and slowly pull an arrow from the quiver at his back.

The mage wore a troubled expression as he looked to his king. “I had not intended to reveal myself this way,” he said. He contemplated the man for a moment, then set his mouth in a grim line. “I am sorry, Harrow. You will understand soon.” Dark energy pooled above his palm as he recited another chilling incantation, then flung it at the king. Harrow collapsed bonelessly.

Shocked, Runaan stared at the fallen king for a heartbeat before wrenching his gaze back to advisor. The man advanced on him, lips curled in a sneer, eyes turning a vivid violet. Runaan leapt to his feet and drew his bow, but with a deft use of his staff the mage knocked from his grasp. Runaan reached for the dagger at his hip, but some force stayed his hand. He braced himself for death as the mage began another chant, violet eyes turning black.

The southerner faltered. The darkness leeched from his eyes, surprised confusion returning his face to a more human appearance. “I know you,” he said, searching Runaan’s face intently. His expression cleared. “That seaside village. The Clan of the Moon.” His eyes narrowed. “The selkie coat. You were there, at that house.”

A dread settled like a stone in Runaan’s stomach. He was sure he’d never seen this man before.

The dark mage regarded Runaan a moment longer. The clamor outside had not abated, but the silence in the throne room seemed louder. Slowly the mage nodded, raising his hand, dark energy forming around it once again. “I can find more practical uses for you.”

xXx

Rayla pulled the boys back from the doors mechanically, discipline and training kicking in despite her own state of shock. She’d been too far away to hear anything that had been said, but she hadn’t needed to. Runaan, the deadliest fighter she knew of, collapsing without a sound, felled not by mortal weapons but a dark power.

The two Katolin boys weren’t functioning at all. Ezran gave only passive resistance, eyes glazed with horror. Callum tried to pull away back towards the throne room, babbling anxiously.

“He can’t. He can’t be, be dead. Viren—Lord Viren wouldn’t, they’re very close, you know, he’s the king’s closest advisor, has been for years—ever since Mom died—they were really close even before then, of course—he wouldn’t, even if he’s a, a mage, a dark mage, he wouldn’t _kill_ him, they’re _friends_ , practically—as much as a king can have friends—he’s not dead—”

Rayla slapped him.

Callum’s focused in on her, his mouth a perfect _O_. She was pretty sure he’d forgotten she was there.

“Look,” she said, “We need to get away from here, from this room in particular, unless you _want_ that mage to come after _us_ next.” She grabbed Callum’s wrist, tugging him after her as she prodded an unresisting Ezran ahead. Bait helped, bumping the wee boy from behind whenever he paused. “He just killed his own men, his own _king_. I don’t think he wants any witnesses.”

The sound of approaching soldiers grew. It wouldn’t be long before they realized something had happened in the throne room, and she really didn’t want to be here when they did. What the _hell_ had gotten into these two? Were they really this distraught over the death of their king? Okay, Ezran maybe, he had to be like, eight, but Callum? She’d had him at swordpoint and he hadn’t been this affected.

Callum stared at her for another moment, long enough that she’d begun to wonder if he’d even heard her. “He killed the king,” he whispered, cold, hard clarity dawning in his eyes. He wrenched his arm from her grasp and turned back towards the throne room. “King Harrow!” he called, then voice cracking, “ _Dad!_ ”

Oh.

Oh, _no_.

In the back of Rayla’s mind, several different puzzle pieces finally clicked together. But she didn’t have time to reflect on them now. She pushed them all down, save one: She REALLY needed to get these kids out of here.

“Callum! It’s Callum, right?” Not waiting for an answer, she grabbed his shoulders and gave a firm shake. “I’m sorry about your da. I _really_ am. But you can’t do anythin’ for him.” She swallowed, forcing her thoughts away from Runaan. “But you _can_ help your brother. He needs you, now more than ever.”

For a long anxious moment Callum just looked at her, grief and hopelessness in every line of his face. With each agonizing second Rayla expected armed guards to charge around the corner, and every instinct screamed at her to just forget them and run. But she kept her gaze locked with Callum’s. She wouldn’t leave the boys at the mercy of a dark mage, especially not after the kindness they’d shown her.

Then Callum’s eyes hardened. “Right. Ezran. I have to get him out of here.” He pulled out of her grasp and reached for the younger boy’s hand. “C’mon, Ez, we gotta go.” He gently guided him towards a side corridor. Rayla followed, covering their backs with swords raised warily.

She relaxed ever so slightly when they reached relative safety around a bend in the side hallway. “I can watch our backs, but you two will have to lead.”

Callum nodded, and crouched in front of Ezran. “Ez,” he said gently. “We need to get out of the castle without anyone seeing us.”

“What about Dad?” Ezran whispered. Rayla’s heart squeezed.

“He . . . he wouldn’t want us to worry about him. He would want us to be safe.” Callum swallowed visibly. “Which means we need to leave the castle. If we can’t trust Claudia, and we can’t trust Viren, then . . .” He pulled his brother into a hug, murmuring something. Ezran clutched him tighter. Bait nuzzled the two of them, warbling softly.

Feeling slightly guilty, Rayla cleared her throat. “Look, this has been a traumatic night for all of us, but I vote we cry about it when we’re a loooong ways from here. I no fancy bein’ speared like a prize boar, or havin’ my insides turned to mush by dark magic, and I doubt you do either.”

Callum scowled and made like he was about to retort, but Ezran put a hand on his arm. “She’s right. We do need to go.” He took a deep breath, seeming to be coming out of his shock. “There’s a tunnel that goes under the moat and comes out on the beach.”

As Rayla once again followed the Katolin boys— _princes_ —deep into the bowels of the foreign castle, fear and doubt began to trickle past her mental defenses. She was stranded in an enemy kingdom with nothing but her butterfly blades and the clothes on her back, with a dark mage on the loose, and her entire team was dead. And it was _all her fault_.

_The others were right._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaaaand here is where we REALLY start to divert from canon. I treasure all of your comments, so don't be shy to leave one, I'd love to hear from you! I'd especially like to know what you all think of the fight scene, since that's one of the things I have the least experience with. I didn't get super detailed for that very reason.
> 
> Oh, and I recently got a tumblr and will post chapters there soon as well, which I mention because tragically the username "starsinherblood" was already taken. So when "jedidragonwarriorqueen" starts posting these, don't worry, it's still me!
> 
> This next chapter won't take nearly as long, since my life has now returned to a more typical pace. Until then :)


	5. Deals and Disasters

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> At long last, chapter five! I have no intention of abandoning this fic; I have a color-coded scene list and came up with an entire (if basic) magic system for this AU. I've put in so much work already--and it's so much fun!

The tunnel surfaced on the beach, just as Ezran had said it would. Not that Callum had doubted his brother; Ezran had definitely proven to be a much more reliable source than anyone would have thought, considering the absurdity of most of his stories. The three of them peered out cautiously, scanning for any movement. They saw no one, but Callum waited until Rayla nodded the all clear before he allowed Ezran and himself to exit the tunnel.

The high walls of the castle keep arched away above them. They kept close to the rocks at its base, staying off the open beach; any guards on the castle walls could see them if they ventured out too far, especially on a night like this. The stars shone unhindered in the clear sky and the full moon, reflecting off the sea, lit the area well. A light breeze drifted from the water. Callum paused to inhale it. No smoke, or blood, or sweat—just salt and brine and the clean night air.

“Come on,” Rayla snapped, motioning impatiently towards the treeline. Callum scowled at her but followed. Rayla eyed the ocean warily, expression tense. She shivered and turned her back to the water to follow the boys into the woods.

Once sheltered from prying eyes by the trees, Callum relaxed shoulders he hadn’t realized were so tense. The three of them—plus Bait, because he was actually _real_ —pushed half-blindly through the foliage for several minutes, but after a time Ezran pulled on Callum’s hand.

“Can we rest?” Ezran asked tiredly. “My legs hurt.”

Callum looked down at his little brother, lugging his stuffed backpack on his back as well as the watermelon-sized egg in his arms. In Erzan’s eyes, Callum could see a pain deeper than any of the physical kind. He could sense a similar feeling rising in himself, but pushed it down with everything he had. “Yeah. Good idea.”

“But not for long,” Rayla said even as the boys flopped to the ground. “We need to put more distance between us and the castle.” She glanced at Callum. “They will definitely be looking for you two once they realize you’re missin’.”

Callum gave a guilty start. “Oh? Why would they do that? We, we’re not, you know, important.”

Rayla raised an eyebrow. “Despite the fact that you called the king ‘Dad’?”

“Oh,” Callum said, blinking. “I did, didn’t I? I did do that.”

Ezran glanced up from where he had burrowed into Callum’s side. “You _did_?”

Callum rubbed the back of his neck. “I mean. It was kinda spontaneous, in a moment of raw emotion and all. But, yeah.”

Ezran sat up and hugged him tight. Callum hugged him back, eyes misting.

Their _dad_. Their dad was _gone_.

What was he going to _do_?

Eventually Ezran released him, taking a shuddering breath and wiping his eyes on his sleeve. Sitting up now, he pulled a remarkable number of jelly tarts out of his backpack. “I need to make room for the egg,” he explained through a mouthful of pastry, crumbs spewing everywhere. He offered one to Callum, who accepted enthusiastically (his stomach finally realizing how long it had been since he’d last ate, grief and trauma notwithstanding). Ezran offered one to Rayla, still standing awkwardly a few feet away, but she shook her head.

Ezran’s face fell. “Are you sure? Have you ever had a jelly tart? They’re really good.”

“No thanks,” Rayla said. “I’m still a wee bit queasy after seein’ that laboratory.”

“I’ll save some for you,” Ezran said decisively, and placed several jelly tarts aside.

“That means a lot, coming from him,” Callum told her dryly. “You’d think jelly tarts are sacred, the way he goes on.”

Rayla gave a small smile, and finally sat down across from the boys. “Speakin’ of the egg, what are we goin’ to do about it?” She paused, frowning. Callum could almost see the thought on her face: Is _there a “we”?_

A good question. He wasn’t sure if there was a “we”, either. For all that they had worked well together to attempt to find her coat, save the egg, warn King Harrow, and then escape the castle, what he and Ezran knew about the girl could probably be summed up in two sentences. She was a tattooed, dual-blade-wielding assassin from an enemy country who had snuck into their castle to attempt to kill their dad, and owned a (possibly magical) white fur coat that had ended up in a dark mage’s laboratory.

Okay, one very long sentence. Not helping her case.

But…that wasn’t actually all they knew about her, was it?

She’d told them her name.

Callum knew what that meant to the people from the northern clans; it was very similar to the way names were handled in the old stories, by both earthly and supernatural creatures. Your name was tied to your very being, and to tell it to someone was to tell them _I trust you to know me._ Not just to know her as a clanswoman, or as an assassin, but as herself. As _Rayla_.

And that wasn’t even all. She could have let the other assassin, her teammate, kill Soren, but instead had fought him. She could have left them at the mercy of Viren as soon as things went sour, but instead of running she’d dragged them away from the throne room and stayed with them until they’d come to their senses, risking her own life. True, she could have just wanted a guide out of the castle, but she would have had a decent chance on her own. Callum and Ezran had definitely slowed her down.

“Well,” Callum said slowly, “If it _is_ the lost egg of the Dragon Prince, then we need to get it back to Thunder Island.”

“Why do _we_ need to do it?” Rayla asked. “Where I’m from, folk know to leave fae stuff well enough alone. We don’t meddle in their business, and then they don’t meddle in ours.”

“But,” Callum argued, “What if they find out we found the egg, but then didn’t return it? And even worse, left it so close to the dark mage we took it from?”

Rayla scowled. “I don’t see why it needs to be _us_.”

“No one’s twisting your arm,” Callum said. “You can leave anytime you like. But we’re going to return the egg. It isn’t like anyone else is lining up to do it.” It struck him then that Ezran hadn’t said a word this whole time, just watched the exchange with solemn eyes. “Right, Ez?”

Ezran nodded, stroking the egg as it sat in his lap. “We definitely need to return him. He needs his family.” He paused. “Which way is Thunder Island?”

Callum pointed up the coast. “North, a bit past the border.”

Ezran nodded slowly. “That feels like the right direction.”

Callum, really not in the mood to challenge his little brother’s typical cryptic remarks, turned back to Rayla. “You don’t need to come, if you don’t want to. Thanks for your help, but we can take it from here.”

She rolled her eyes in exasperation. “I highly doubt that.”

“Why?” Callum asked, insulted. “Because we’re Katolin?”

She looked amused. “Partly. But mostly because you’re princes.” Resigning herself to a long conversation, she scooted closer. “What are you goin’ to eat for breakfast in the mornin’?”

Callum blinked at her, caught off guard. “Uh…”

“Jelly tarts,” Ezran said sleepily. He had curled up on his side, Bait already snoring in his arms.

“You ate them,” Rayla teased, reaching over to ruffle his hair. Callum’s fists clenched in his lap, but he forced himself to relax.

“I saved some . . . oh, wait. Those are yours . . .” Ezran trailed off into a yawn.

“It’ll be tough, but I’ll share,” Rayla said wryly, then looked back at Callum. “What sort of campsite are you goin’ to look for tonight? What will you look for to make sure no potentially hostile animals have their dens nearby? What’s your plan if at any point you’re attacked by bandits? Is it a good idea to make a fire? What are you goin’ to use to start it? Will you—”

“Okay, okay,” Callum said, waving her off. “You’ve made your point.”

Her face softened. “I can’t in good conscience leave you alone out here.”

“Wow, an assassin with a conscience?” Callum jibed, a little hurt by her frank (if accurate) assessment of his worldly experience.

And regretted it a second later, as her eyes sharpened again. “A southerner who cares about a dragon egg? A prince who cares about somethin’ other than himself?”

Callum winced. “I guess I asked for that.”

“Yeah, you did.” She hesitated, absently stroking the fur coat tied around her waist. “But . . . I haven’t exactly been fair, either. Thanks for helpin’ me find my cloak. Even if I didn’t really give you a choice,” she added sheepishly.

Callum snorted. “No, you really didn’t. But Ez was right. It was the right thing to do.” He slipped off his jacket and draped it over Ezran, who’d drifted off with his head resting on his own. “I’m sorry for what our countrymen did to your village and your people. We can’t do anything about that, but we can do something about this.” He gestured to the egg. “ _We_ can’t leave the egg in good conscience.”

“ _Fine_.” Rayla cast her eyes skyward and sighed. “You do have a point. We can’t just leave it. And headin’ back north was the idea anyway. Might as well be up the coast.” She glanced back in the direction they’d come from, a slight distaste on her face, then turned to side-eye him. “So, you drop the egg off at Thunder Island. Then what’s your plan?”

Callum shook his head. “I . . . don’t know,” he admitted. He was struggling to process right now, his head whirling at a thousand thoughts a minute. Why had Viren done what he did? Had he seen the opportunity to kill Harrow and blame it on the northern clans, then take control of Katolis? If that was the case, then Ezran and even Callum weren’t safe anywhere in the country. They wouldn’t be safe with their grandmother, even if they could even make it to Bellmoore without being spotted and captured, and he didn’t like their odds of making it to Aunt Amaya at the Breach either.

And what did Viren want control of Katolis _for_? It couldn’t just be to practice dark magic freely; there had to be a deeper reason for such a drastic betrayal. What had Claudia said? _He needs it for a spell to protect all humankind…_

“I just know we need to get away. If Viren . . . King Harrow . . .” Callum swallowed. “I can’t let him get Ezran.” He shook his head. “We’ll just . . . focus on the egg for now. After that, we can decide what we want to do.”

Rayla studied him, face unreadable, lilac eyes over blue tattoos. Callum felt a surge of uneasiness. She might have been helpful, even kind, but she was still an enemy solider, and they were displaced royalty more or less at her mercy. But at the same time, she was a foreigner in a hostile country. They could very easily turn her in without any warning.

They needed to trust each other, if they were going to make this work.

Eventually, she nodded, and he nodded back. She smiled slightly and tilted her head, moonlight glinting off her strange silvery hair. Callum felt a shiver down his spine.

In a single fluid movement Rayla stood and stretched, then gently prodded Ezran with a foot. “C’mon, sleepyhead. Nap time’s over.”

“What?” Ezran whined. “Already? Why?”

“We need to put more distance between ourselves and the castle,” Rayla said. “It won’t be long before your people realize their princes are missin’, and once that mage girl wakes up they’ll have an even better idea of what they’re lookin’ for.” She grinned, looking almost predatory. “Fortunately, with my help, you’ll get farther away then they’d ever think, and with nary a trace.”

xXx

A troupe of pissed-off drummers had taken up residence in Lord Viren’s head. He considered stopping by his lab now that his prisoners were safely squirreled away, to whip up a quick potion to quiet his throbbing head, but he still had so much to do. Perhaps he could task Claudia with preparing him something once she resurfaced.

Where _was_ the blasted girl? He could have definitely used her help securing his prisoners. As it was he certainly didn’t trust any of the guards or servants to help, or even his bumbling son, and dragging two unconscious fighting-fit middle-aged men all the way down to his personal dungeon had been extremely taxing.

Though, he had a premonition that would end up being the easiest part of cleaning up this mess.

He could trace his headache back to the emergency governmental assembly. He’d informed King Harrow’s council and the Crownguard that the king had been gravely injured during the assassination attempt. He’d assured them the Harrow was being cared for under the tightest, most secret security possible, overseen of course by Viren himself as the king’s most trusted advisor. Most were clearly dubious; even Soren hadn’t seemed entirely comfortable with his father’s pronouncement. However, Viren had convinced the council to keep the attack and current situation under wraps as much as possible (rumors would be inevitable) until the king’s condition was stabilized, and that was the important thing.

By stabilized, of course, Viren had meant _persuaded to his viewpoint_ , confident he could make Harrow see sense after all that had just occurred.

“And what of the princes?” Councilor Opeli had asked. “They’re still missing!”

Viren had barely resisted the urge to roll his eyes. “The guards are still searching the castle. The boys probably went into hiding, which I for one think was very smart of them. And we all know how hard it is to find the Crown Prince when he decides to make himself scarce,” he’d added, which brought out a strained chuckle from the group.

Honestly, despite the fact that she wasn’t even present, the person who Viren was the most concerned about was General Amaya. The storming woman had never fully trusted him, as she had made abundantly clear over the years. And she had a frustrating knack for getting in his way. Already scrambling to salvage this situation, Viren didn’t need Harrow’s nosy sister-in-law coming after him, particularly since she happened to command the majority of the Katolin army. His best bet was to distract her with rage and grief, and convince her to attack the northern clans—which had the added bonus of keeping both her _and_ those primitive wretches occupied.

He was halfway through drafting his letter to the general when Claudia burst into his study.

Viren barely glanced up at her before turning back to his writing. “Where have you _been_? The king was attacked in the throne room, and I could have used you—”

“The king was _attacked_?” Claudia gasped.

Viren frowned. “How do you not know?” He looked up at her again. The hem of her normally impeccable dress looked almost like it had been soaked in acid, the dress itself rumpled like she’d slept in it. Her hair crackled as she moved, and wild light shone in her eyes. “What happened to _you_?”

“My wards went off,” Claudia said in a rush, “the ones you had me set around the lab. But I thought it was weird that they’d gone off so soon, so I wanted to make sure it wasn’t a mistake or like, a rat or something, but it was the princes, and they had this northern soldier with them for some reason, and they’d found the egg somehow—”

“ _What_?” Viren said, his voice ice.

“—and Callum interrupted my spell when I tried to get it back, and I got knocked out somehow and when I woke up the lab was a total mess and they and the egg were all gone,” Claudia finished, and finally took a breath.

Viren stood, half-finished missive forgotten. “Show me.”

This was an unqualified disaster.

Broken glass, torn paper, and pieces of spell ingredients littered every surface of the lab. Half the sconces had their crystals knocked loose, an entire bank of shelves had collapsed in on itself, and soot marred the entire lower third of his map of Katolis. But worse than all that, the pedestal sat toppled in its corner, the chest sat empty on his desk, and both the dragon egg and the selkie coat were gone.

All that research, all that struggle, all those searches in the unforgiving wilderness and inhospitable ruins, finally finding the tools he needed to accomplish his goal—only to be stolen from under his nose by a useless step-prince and the crown brat.

Despite himself, Viren almost laughed. This entire day didn’t seem real. Even given Prince Ezran’s penchant for exploring, the lab was cleverly hidden. How did the princes even find it? What on earth did they think they were _doing_ , exactly? They certainly couldn’t _know_ what they’d taken. And if they had seen Claudia cast a spell . . . well. He’d cross that bridge when he came to it.

Claudia poked the inside of the chest cautiously, like she expected something to jump out at her. “I didn’t realize they’d taken the selkie coat,” she said ruefully.

“I expect the lab to be completely restored by tomorrow night,” Viren said. Claudia opened her mouth to protest, but he cut her off. “ _No arguments_. This mess is your own, and I have a kingdom to run at the moment. The only reason I’ve given you that much time at all is because your first priority will be to search the tunnels and retrieve the princes and the items they stole.”

Claudia sulked, but nodded. “What about the clan soldier?”

 _That_ was the most puzzling piece of this mess. Were the princes being held hostage? Had the solider chased the princes until they happened to stumble upon the lab? Finding it by accident should have been impossible, but Viren was at a loss for other explanations. Perhaps his northern prisoner could shed some light on the subject, with a little persuasion.

“A single clan soldier, or even an assassin, _shouldn’t_ be a match for a dark mage. Even one in training. But since that appears to be the case, I’ll send your brother to help.” Viren tightened his grip on his staff. “Make sure the soldier is disposed of. Get those items back.”

“And the princes,” Claudia added.

Viren waved a hand dismissively. “Yes, yes, and the princes.”

xXx

Harrow noticed first that his mouth was dry. He next became aware of the pounding in his skull, and thirdly the way his wrists ached. It wasn’t until he shifted to try to relieve pressure on them that he realized they were raised over his head, a cold hard surface pressed into his back.

His eyes snapped open.

Light flickered from a torch somewhere out of sight, casting only a dim light on his surroundings. The air felt damp and oppressive. His arms were shackled above his head, hanging from a ring in the wall. Harrow scrambled to his feet, then regretted it as a wave of dizziness passed over him. He waited for it to pass, leaning against the cold stone wall, then straightened.

He found himself in a decently sized cell, perhaps six feet by six feet, completely bare but for a layer of straw on the floor. A wooden grate closed off the front of the cell, giving Harrow a fantastic view of the bare stone wall across the hallway. Granted, he hadn’t spent much time in the castle dungeons, but he was fairly certain they weren’t this dismal. (He made a mental note to change that if they were.) There didn’t seem to be any natural light coming from anywhere, but then again, it could be dark out. After all, it had been nighttime when . . .

His most recent memories came back all in a rush. The throne room. The assassins. Viren.

 _Viren_.

Harrow’s fists clenched. Primals help him, if Viren laid a hand on Ezran or Callum…

Viren had to have been studying dark magic for a long, long time; he had cast the spells too easily, too readily, for it to have been a recent endeavor. All those years, needling Harrow to condone dark magic. Pretending to respect Harrow’s wishes, but performing the dark arts behind his back.

A rustle somewhere beyond the cell startled him. “Hello?” Harrow called. “Who’s there?”

Silence.

Harrow bristled. “Viren, if that’s you, show your face, you cowardly _bastard_.”

A rustle again, this time accompanied by the slight clink of chains and a low groan. Not Viren, then. A fellow prisoner.

“Hello?” Harrow tried again.

Though he periodically heard the other person shifting around, no response came. They didn’t seem to be in a very chatty mood. Harrow supposed he couldn’t blame them.

Who else would Viren lock down here? But why was _Harrow_ here? Had Viren simply wanted the freedom to practice dark magic freely, or was there something more? He _had_ saved Harrow’s life. Harrow had no illusions about that. That assassin would have made short work of him. But then, rather than taking the consequences for practicing dark magic—in Katolis, under Harrow, the price was banishment—he had imprisoned Harrow in his own castle.

Harrow felt a trickle of doubt. _Was_ he still in Castle Katolis?

At any rate, it spoke to a further purpose. Viren had something he wanted to accomplish, something that required the power and influence of the government of Katolis. And he’d kept Harrow alive, which meant he still had some use for him.

But for the life of him, Harrow couldn’t figure what that might be. As far as he’d known, Viren’s aim had always been the security and prosperity of the country. But what might’ve there been in their conversations that he’d missed—body language, wording, tone? Combing through what he remembered of their countless discussions would take quite a while.

Well. Harrow settled down against the wall once more. There wasn’t much else he could do at the moment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, the series finale of 2020 was something, wasn't it? Aha...aha...aha...
> 
> One distinction I’d like to make: Rayla has told Callum her name, but though she *knows* his (and Ezran’s), he hasn’t *told* her his name. That’ll come up later ;)
> 
> So, yeah, nothing much happened in this chapter—it’s literally just everyone (including Viren) trying to process what the hell happened in the last chapter and realizing no one has any idea what’s going on. But we'll be back to the action in chapter six!


End file.
